My Writings (New 4)

A Melody

There's a melody,
In the heart of me,
In the air today,
A melody does play;

Happy birds in the trees,
Singing sweet melodies,
Happy breeze a blowing,
Happy stream a flowing;

Happy clouds flying by,
High up in the sky,
Blue sky above,
Everything's in love;

Happiness all around,
In every gentle sound,
A joy just to live,
As life peace does give;

The leaves all a twirling,
The world all a whirling,
The sun shining warm,
A heavenly place does form;

There's something in the air,
Something more than fair,
That envelopes everything,
And makes me want to sing.

May Flies

All of us are little May Flies living our fleeting day. May Flies are lttle insects that emerge on a warm day in May and live and fly about only one brief day and then they die. They only have that one day in spring, that one exquisite day, and then they are gone.

They experience the wonder of it all, fly about in the noonday sun, happy no doubt, and perhaps secure in the illusion that their glorious life will go on. They go dancing in the wind, a day, their whole lifetime dancing in the wind, and then comes the night.

Undaunted and unaware of the brevity of their existence the May Flies remain vivacious until the end. For all creatures there comes an end, and for some like the May Flies life is but a day. May Flies have their day as surely as all who live have their day.

And When No Rain Does Fall

And when no rain does fall,
And when no sun does shine,
Well then is no joy at all,
Well then is nothing more fine.

And when no smile does beam,
And when no love does dwell,
Well then is no good does seem,
Well then does little seem well.

And when no peace is near,
And when no hope is there,
Well then is not good I fear,
Well then is nothing more fair.

And when no song does ring,
And when no wind does blow,
Well then is not good anything,
Well then little good does grow,

And when no more we see,
And when no more we say,
Well then in bad shape are we,
Well then we have gone away.

The Search For Truth

What we all search for, even though many do not know they are doing so, is truth. Whether in religion, books, conversation, words, relationships, our work, the countryside, or within our individual soul, we seine for truth as long as we have any semblance of consciousness.

While it may seem we are seeking pleasure or happiness, actually the primal desire to realize the truth is the subtile motivation behind all our actions. In every life situation we hope subconsciously to break through the facade and the seeming, to tear away the cobwebs from our eyes, to pierce the veil and see the visage of pure, unadulterated truth.

We think that perhaps today we will finally discover that certain something. But today passes, and a whole flock of days, and we grow more and more disappointed. Nothing quite measures up. We expect so much, but we reap so little. In the morning we throb with hope, however evening often finds us drained of hope and once again disenchanted with life.

Often in our life people never quite react to us as we wish, our work never quite satisfies us, our life never quite suits us, and our moments do not yield us the enjoyment we desire and expect.

We attempt to snare and scrutinize the truth that we want to gather from life. We try to hold it securely for one good look in the ever rushing stream of life.

In the Bible Jesus says in John 8:32 "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."


Give me a place free of fear,
Where only peace is near,
Where conflict is unfound,
As gentle rings each sound;

Where the eye beholds beauty,
Completely simple and free,
Untouched by evil or hate,
But in a tranquil state;

Quietly dwelling day by day,
Ever that way to stay.

The Mysterious Wind

The wind is an old friend I hear calling to me. From out of the night the wind beckons me, and breathes wondrous notions into my head. I never feel so alone as when there is no wind. The wind calms my fears, allays my sense of despair, and pleads with me to continue my quest and not to lose the precious hope so easily lost.

The wind comforts me, cools and soothes my brow, and stirs my soul. The wind rises and falls like magic, comes from who knows where, and goes to who knows where. The wind has long been my inspiration.

The wind carries the breath of the living, the very essence of life borne through the air, as it glides over the hilltops and into the valleys, refreshing and reviving all it touches. There is no song as beautiful as the song the wind makes. The wail of the wind is an ancient melody.

The wind is a powerful force, and when unleashed in a storm can reach an extraordinary magnitude. Usually the wind just whispers, but occasionally it roars with a fury revealing a devastating power.

The wind suggests the spiritual, seeming to flow from an omnipotent source, and to come and go in league with some eerie mystery. There is nothing more uncanny than a sudden gust of wind, seemingly coming from nowhere, and picking up leaves and tossing them about like an invisible spirit.

On a dark stormy night the howling wind epitomizes a being in agony, moaning its sadness to the world. The wind like the hand of a giant bends the trees, flings the leaves and dust high into the air, and speeds the clouds across the sky. In the fury of a blizzard the wind seems a reckless monster flinging the snow in all directions without ceasing. However on a hot summer day the wind seems like an angel bathing our face with coolness.

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