Ross Myers

The title is mine…. the words are from a good friend, Ted Underwood, who told me he wrote the following during a sleepless night in the middle of some jungle during the Vietnam War.

I havent seen Ted in over 15 years….I sure do miss ya’ buddy hope you’re doing well.

A Soldier’s Thoughts

My thoughts seem to shift and pass,
as dust will blow through tangled grass.
When borne like whispers upon the wind,
they flow from now…by then , to when?

I’ve stood alone with frosting breath,
pondering the purpose of birth and death.
And the interval between..
where I exist and the part unseen.
And as I stood ‘neath that old street lamp,
I glanced at my house through the cold and damp.
To become frightened that my windows seemed,
like shut eyes inwardly watching the lives in a dream.

In shock my soul knelt..in the subtle shade
of a broken belief and I softly prayed,
that man would realize that his true existence,
was never meant to offer resistance,
or persecution to those he would shun.
But into silence my words fell one by one.

So now I watch through my window-eye,
the days of my life as they pass me by,
and the shadowed people who had approached my door,
now only pass beyond and stop no more.

Then my thoughts which seem to shift and pass,
blow as dust though tangled grass.

I am the family face;

Flesh perishes, I live on,

Projecting trait and trace

Through time to times anon,

And leaping from place to place

Over oblivion. 

Thomas Hardy Moments of Vision 1917

 Always Victoria says:

Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling five balls in the air. You name them Work, Family, Health, Friends and Spirit, and you are keeping all of them in the air. You will soon understand that Work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls–Family, Health, Friends and Spirit–are made of glass.

via (Muzik’s Mystery Blog Box)

 The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table by Oliver Wendell Holmes

 When we are as yet small children, long before the time when those
two grown ladies offer us the choice of Hercules, there comes up to
us a youthful angel, holding in his right hand cubes like dice, and
in his left spheres like marbles. The cubes are of stainless
ivory, and on each is written in letters of gold - TRUTH. The
spheres are veined and streaked and spotted beneath, with a dark
crimson flush above, where the light falls on them, and in a
certain aspect you can make out upon every one of them the three
letters L, I, E. The child to whom they are offered very probably
clutches at both. The spheres are the most convenient things in
the world; they roll with the least possible impulse just where the
child would have them. The cubes will not roll at all; they have a
great talent for standing still, and always keep right side up.
But very soon the young philosopher finds that things which roll so
easily are very apt to roll into the wrong corner, and to get out
of his way when he most wants them, while he always knows where to
find the others, which stay where they are left. Thus he learns -
thus we learn - to drop the streaked and speckled globes of
falsehood and to hold fast the white angular blocks of truth. But
then comes Timidity, and after her Good-nature, and last of all
Polite-behavior, all insisting that truth must ROLL, or nobody can
do anything with it; and so the first with her coarse rasp, and the
second with her broad file, and the third with her silken sleeve,
do so round off and smooth and polish the snow-white cubes of
truth, that, when they have got a little dingy by use, it becomes
hard to tell them from the rolling spheres of falsehood.