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| Ripples  photo by Crow, haiku by MW Joyfully skip a stone Across the water And watch its ripple Spread outward, shore to shore, Smile at a stranger You pass on the street, And watch as they in turn Smile at the next they meet, Nurture a creative thought Cast it out there And watch the idea Slowly spread and take hold. Stones are cold Until the sun warms them Stones are still Unless thrown in anger Stones are heavy And sink to the bottom, But if you fling them just so, They will skip across The water’s surface Filled with lightness of joy. Pithy Sayings: Each of us has a hidden gem inside, That, if polished, will reveal itself by and by. Every stone has its own sound, heard only when it is struck. -MW Respect for the other is to find a brother. It is the different who make the difference. To give is to get. -JM | Interaction We denigrate reflexively, We appreciate reflectively. The former is "self-elevation," The latter "other-elevation." The former makes enemies, The latter makes friends. Choose as you will, Then live with choice! A Reminder The healthy must tend to the sick, The wealthy must see to the poor, The strong must aid the weak, The able must enable the unable. These are moral imperatives That bear repetition. The other is your brother! A Simple Credo To reflect more and to recite less, To do more and emote less, To give more and take less, To smile more and to frown less, Is to be the better for it, A capable, affable human being. Less Take, More Give More for the many who have too little, Less for the few who have too much, The scales would thereby be more balanced, Humanity and justice better served And social friction largely moderated. A Pity and a Waste The world is full of grumblers, Of passive miscontents With neither time nor interest To keep themselves informed And to reflect on things. They do not look and see, Nor do they hear and heed. Theirs is a frozen mindset That keeps the world at bay And themselves cocooned. What a pity! Chronic grumblers all Think only to take issue. Nothing's as it should be And all's beyond repair. Theirs is not to enlighten, Nor to help improve, Theirs is but to rend, To leave in disarray. And all is self-display, Balm for an ailing ego. What a waste! -JM |
HIdden Gems
Pick up a pebble from the stream
Dry. clean, polish it to a gleam
And you will find a gem
That matches your dream.
-MW
Dry. clean, polish it to a gleam
And you will find a gem
That matches your dream.
-MW
Hidden Gems
The woman was put in charge of the pebbles. Not the large rocks. They were tended by others. And the boulders required large hands and stronger shoulders than she had. The pebbles of sand were tended by others as well, small gentle hands that could hold the individual grains without crushing them. But the woman was now in charge of the pebbles, the small stones that were large enough to learn but still unformed.
She liked the pebbles. Their size didn’t threaten her and she could do so much with them. Her job was to put them into the river each day and let the water do its work, smoothing and forming each stone to a unique shape and size. Some of the workers just sat and watched the water as it flowed over the stones, but the woman did more. Every morning, she took great care where she placed each stone. Larger stones with rough edges were placed where the water was rougher. Small pebbles or stones with a crack were placed in calm waters where they could rest in the healing water. The small pebbles were gradually moved into the deeper water to be buffeted by the current. But they were put into the calm pool periodically to allow them to rest a bit.
The woman soon discovered that the stones were smoothed by the currents and each developed a unique shape. The pebbles, already smooth, became polished by the water. Each developed a unique color. Some became quite beautiful. And a few revealed a gem at their core. The woman nurtured all of the pebbles, but she took special care with the hidden gems. Sometimes she could tell which pebble would become a gem, other times she was quite surprised when a plain, gray stone developed beautiful colors and a sheen. So whenever she received a new pebble, she assumed it would, in time, become a gem. She began to produce more and more gems. For this she was praised by the Head Rock Tender.
When she had done what she could with the pebbles, the woman turned them over to the tenders of the larger rocks. She chose the next tender carefully, for she loved her gems and wanted them to continue to shine. The tender must handle the rocks with care, must observe and develop the unique qualities of each one, and must be willing to submit them to a bit of rough water as well. Not all would do so. It was not really her job to choose the tender and sometimes she was disappointed when one of her pebbles was given to a tender who was too rough or who just sat and watched the rocks without tending to them. But her heart was gladdened when her gems flourished and after years turned into real jewels that were taken from the water and sent into the world. Occasionally, she would hear that a pebble had developed a crack and was taken from the water to lie in the sand. Then she felt sad. Other pebbles would disappear down the river and she was left wondering where they were and how they were faring. Had they become grains of sand on the large ocean beach? Or were they lodged somewhere, buried in the bed of the river? She would never know.
But she continued to tend to the pebbles she was given, taking care with each in hopes that it, too, would become a gem and maybe even a jewel in due time.
-MW
The woman was put in charge of the pebbles. Not the large rocks. They were tended by others. And the boulders required large hands and stronger shoulders than she had. The pebbles of sand were tended by others as well, small gentle hands that could hold the individual grains without crushing them. But the woman was now in charge of the pebbles, the small stones that were large enough to learn but still unformed.
She liked the pebbles. Their size didn’t threaten her and she could do so much with them. Her job was to put them into the river each day and let the water do its work, smoothing and forming each stone to a unique shape and size. Some of the workers just sat and watched the water as it flowed over the stones, but the woman did more. Every morning, she took great care where she placed each stone. Larger stones with rough edges were placed where the water was rougher. Small pebbles or stones with a crack were placed in calm waters where they could rest in the healing water. The small pebbles were gradually moved into the deeper water to be buffeted by the current. But they were put into the calm pool periodically to allow them to rest a bit.
The woman soon discovered that the stones were smoothed by the currents and each developed a unique shape. The pebbles, already smooth, became polished by the water. Each developed a unique color. Some became quite beautiful. And a few revealed a gem at their core. The woman nurtured all of the pebbles, but she took special care with the hidden gems. Sometimes she could tell which pebble would become a gem, other times she was quite surprised when a plain, gray stone developed beautiful colors and a sheen. So whenever she received a new pebble, she assumed it would, in time, become a gem. She began to produce more and more gems. For this she was praised by the Head Rock Tender.
When she had done what she could with the pebbles, the woman turned them over to the tenders of the larger rocks. She chose the next tender carefully, for she loved her gems and wanted them to continue to shine. The tender must handle the rocks with care, must observe and develop the unique qualities of each one, and must be willing to submit them to a bit of rough water as well. Not all would do so. It was not really her job to choose the tender and sometimes she was disappointed when one of her pebbles was given to a tender who was too rough or who just sat and watched the rocks without tending to them. But her heart was gladdened when her gems flourished and after years turned into real jewels that were taken from the water and sent into the world. Occasionally, she would hear that a pebble had developed a crack and was taken from the water to lie in the sand. Then she felt sad. Other pebbles would disappear down the river and she was left wondering where they were and how they were faring. Had they become grains of sand on the large ocean beach? Or were they lodged somewhere, buried in the bed of the river? She would never know.
But she continued to tend to the pebbles she was given, taking care with each in hopes that it, too, would become a gem and maybe even a jewel in due time.
-MW
The Story of a Rock
A little rock named Scoria lived deep inside the Earth. Her friend Basalt lived there
too.They were warm and cozy in the Earth.
One day, the Earth erupted and the little rocks blew out into the air. Basalt was heavy. He landed quickly and began to grow cold.
But Scoria was light and filled with air, so she flew high up and landed far away on the side of the newly formed volcano.
She tumbled down the side of the volcano until she came to rest in a little creek at the bottom. “Where am I?” she wondered. “What is to become of me? And where is Basalt?”
One day it began to rain. As the water pelted down, the creek churned. Scoria, light as she was, tumbled along with the water. She rocked and rolled, bumping first the bottom then the sides of the creek, until finally she came to rest in a lake.
There she lay, cold and wet, at the bottom of the lake. “Will I have to lie here forever, alone?” she wondered.
She felt miserable. Finally, to escape her misery she fell asleep. As she slept, mud washed down the mountainside and into the lakebed, until Scoria was completely covered with mud.
Then came a time of hot, sunny weather, when there was no rain and everything dried up. The water in the lake disappeared little by little until only the mud at the bottom remained. And then even the mud dried until it was a hard rock. Scoria awakened from her long sleep. “I am shale,” she said proudly. “A hard rock, that no one can toss about.”
The water came again, bringing little animals. Scoria greeted them happily. They lived and died, and their shells and skeletons fell into the mud on top of the shale. Then the lake dried again and the animal shells hardened into the stone to become limestone. Underneath the limestone lay Scoria. The limestone was so heavy that she hardened even more until she was a smooth hard rock: slate.
Again she was proud. “I am slate. Nothing can break me now,” she said, looking at her hard, sleek body. But she was lonely once again.
Then the Earth began to move. The lakebed shifted and grumbled and pushed against itself until the limestone and slate were lifted high up and became a mountain. Scoria lay deep inside the mountain, hardly aware of her own existence any more. She was just an unseen part of the huge mountain now.
The mountain lasted many years. Gradually the wind and rain and ice ate away at the rocks until one day Scoria was uncovered again. She saw the old volcano across the valley. It was old and worn and not very tall. She wondered whether Basalt was still there.
When the rain fell, she tumbled down this mountain too, into a large river this time. Again she fell over and over as she was swept down the river. The other rocks rubbed against her and she became smaller and smaller.
“Now what?” she wondered. But she was no longer afraid. So much had happened to her already.
Finally, she was just a little pebble when she reached the ocean. The waves picked her up and pushed her against the rocky cliff over and over again, until she was just a tiny grain of sand.
As she lay on the sandy beach, with all the other grains of sand, she saw a shiny black pebble.
“Hello,” she said. “Who are you?”
“I am Basalt,” it answered. “Once I was a large, shiny rock high up on a mountain. But the wind and the rain came and the water tossed me about. Now I am just a little pebble, almost unnoticeable,” the pebble said sadly.
“I too, have been buffeted by wind and water, and I have changed. I was a lava rock then shale then slate and now I am a grain of sand. But I am still your friend, Basalt. I am Scoria.”
Basalt felt better. He and Scoria lay side by side on the beach, happy to be together again.
-MW
A little rock named Scoria lived deep inside the Earth. Her friend Basalt lived there
too.They were warm and cozy in the Earth.
One day, the Earth erupted and the little rocks blew out into the air. Basalt was heavy. He landed quickly and began to grow cold.
But Scoria was light and filled with air, so she flew high up and landed far away on the side of the newly formed volcano.
She tumbled down the side of the volcano until she came to rest in a little creek at the bottom. “Where am I?” she wondered. “What is to become of me? And where is Basalt?”
One day it began to rain. As the water pelted down, the creek churned. Scoria, light as she was, tumbled along with the water. She rocked and rolled, bumping first the bottom then the sides of the creek, until finally she came to rest in a lake.
There she lay, cold and wet, at the bottom of the lake. “Will I have to lie here forever, alone?” she wondered.
She felt miserable. Finally, to escape her misery she fell asleep. As she slept, mud washed down the mountainside and into the lakebed, until Scoria was completely covered with mud.
Then came a time of hot, sunny weather, when there was no rain and everything dried up. The water in the lake disappeared little by little until only the mud at the bottom remained. And then even the mud dried until it was a hard rock. Scoria awakened from her long sleep. “I am shale,” she said proudly. “A hard rock, that no one can toss about.”
The water came again, bringing little animals. Scoria greeted them happily. They lived and died, and their shells and skeletons fell into the mud on top of the shale. Then the lake dried again and the animal shells hardened into the stone to become limestone. Underneath the limestone lay Scoria. The limestone was so heavy that she hardened even more until she was a smooth hard rock: slate.
Again she was proud. “I am slate. Nothing can break me now,” she said, looking at her hard, sleek body. But she was lonely once again.
Then the Earth began to move. The lakebed shifted and grumbled and pushed against itself until the limestone and slate were lifted high up and became a mountain. Scoria lay deep inside the mountain, hardly aware of her own existence any more. She was just an unseen part of the huge mountain now.
The mountain lasted many years. Gradually the wind and rain and ice ate away at the rocks until one day Scoria was uncovered again. She saw the old volcano across the valley. It was old and worn and not very tall. She wondered whether Basalt was still there.
When the rain fell, she tumbled down this mountain too, into a large river this time. Again she fell over and over as she was swept down the river. The other rocks rubbed against her and she became smaller and smaller.
“Now what?” she wondered. But she was no longer afraid. So much had happened to her already.
Finally, she was just a little pebble when she reached the ocean. The waves picked her up and pushed her against the rocky cliff over and over again, until she was just a tiny grain of sand.
As she lay on the sandy beach, with all the other grains of sand, she saw a shiny black pebble.
“Hello,” she said. “Who are you?”
“I am Basalt,” it answered. “Once I was a large, shiny rock high up on a mountain. But the wind and the rain came and the water tossed me about. Now I am just a little pebble, almost unnoticeable,” the pebble said sadly.
“I too, have been buffeted by wind and water, and I have changed. I was a lava rock then shale then slate and now I am a grain of sand. But I am still your friend, Basalt. I am Scoria.”
Basalt felt better. He and Scoria lay side by side on the beach, happy to be together again.
-MW
"Like A Rolling Stone"
Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal
How does it feel?
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody's ever taught you how to live out on the street
And now you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And say do you want to make a deal?
How does it feel?
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
A complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal
How does it feel?
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're all drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all precious gifts
But you'd better take your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal
How does it feel?
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody's ever taught you how to live out on the street
And now you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And say do you want to make a deal?
How does it feel?
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
A complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal
How does it feel?
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're all drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all precious gifts
But you'd better take your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?