Kittysafe Network

When you hear an old man groan while sitting down, you are hearing the echoes of stories needing to be told.

I love the number 6… because when you write it, it finishes with sinking back into itself like a Fibonacci sea shell, looking within… now you may say, what about the number 8?  It sinks inward twice!  Ya, well… 8’s just showing off.

I have way too much time to myself…

People create end of the world prophecies as stepping stones in an uncertain world… it gives them something to attach their mind, their fear to… it’s like when you were a kid and jumped from cushion to cushion to avoid imaginary lava… in fact, it’s exactly like that… yes, a volcano could erupt and the lava could eventually be real, but it’s not likely, (unless you live along the ring of fire, in which case your childhood was just preparation for the real thing)

Hey friends, first of all happy memorial day… this status update is important… my roommate Mike has been going through chemo the last few months to deal with a recurrence of cancer, he is underwater with medical bills, and he cannot get help with medical because he makes too much money… but here’s the catch… they check your income by gross and not your take home… so he might make 45k a year, but he brings home nowhere near that… he really needs our help… so if you can spare a few bucks to help, every bit counts… thanks! And please share the link so we can help him out… he has enough to worry about without suffering over impossible medical expenses… 

Thanks!

https://everribbon.com/ribbon/view/6378

I am the shallow creek bed hidden beneath the city streets… They don’t see me, too busy looking up to the sky, they don’t realize that I too look up, listening is like a staircase, there’s always one step above us, no matter where we are standing. But here, in my mind of mud, where tadpoles swim through my veins, frogs take shelter in my eyes, crawdads meditate in my arms, the laughing and sometimes ever somber wisdom flow of a liquid heartbeat, encapsulates and feeds like a mother her unborn child… Mother of mortality, whose body is the sky, take me in your loving arms and make of me a bridge, for love to cross over.

The mind can be used to create skies for the heart to travel, but it can also chain us to the ground of our beliefs. In this manner, we must be present, accountable, and uplifted. We are not islands, we are One, and all we think is a shared energy, all we feel is a shared current, and all we are is everything.

One can speak poetry with delusion or speak wisdom with poetry… it is not always easy to discern the difference.

Some people smoke weed to get high, I just wash my face… washing my face makes me feel so good! Who needs drugs when you can wash your face in cool, refreshing water?

Growing up on the street, my Zen masters were the baby birds at dawn, hopping in gutters at play and looking for food.
I thought, “If they could be this spritely and happy, so can I.”

I am a drop a water, a reflection of the cosmos… and you remind me that I do have wings. Your love like clouds, in restless silver linings sing, but it was trust that keeps me gliding on the westward wind back to the sea.

Let music be the water that loosens your soil so you may grow and become strengthened by your struggles and not hardened by them.

imagine your mind is a slip n slide, let it all go and enjoy the ride

The lighthouse shines a light for passing ships, the waves crash up on the rocks, tearing at its foundation, threatening to tear it down until nothing visible remains, not because it desires it, but because it is in the nature of the crashing waves to do so… 

If you are an enemy to yourself, all you will see are enemies in your life.