~Alice and The White Knight~ Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll


Chapter 8. It’s My Own Invention
Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll


As the Knight sang the last words of the ballad, he gathered up the reins, and turned his horse’s head along the road by which they had come. ‘You’ve only a few yards to go,’ he said, ‘down the hill and over that little brook, and then you’ll be a Queen–But you’ll stay and see me off first?’ he added as Alice turned with an eager look in the direction to which he pointed. ‘I shan’t be long. You’ll wait and wave your handkerchief when I get to that turn in the road! I think it’ll encourage me, you see.’

‘Of course I’ll wait,’ said Alice: ‘and thank you very much for coming so far–and for the song–I liked it very much.’

‘I hope so,’ the Knight said doubtfully: ‘but you didn’t cry so much as I thought you would.’

So they shook hands, and then the Knight rode slowly away into the forest. ‘It won’t take long to see him off, I expect,’ Alice said to herself, as she stood watching him. ‘There he goes! Right on his head as usual! However, he gets on again pretty easily–that comes of having so many things hung round the horse–‘ So she went on talking to herself, as she watched the horse walking leisurely along the road, and the Knight tumbling off, first on one side and then on the other. After the fourth or fifth tumble he reached the turn, and then she waved her handkerchief to him, and waited till he was out of sight.

‘I hope it encouraged him,’ she said, as she turned to run down the hill: ‘and now for the last brook, and to be a Queen! How grand it sounds!’ A very few steps brought her to the edge of the brook. ‘The Eighth Square at last!’ she cried as she bounded across,

and threw herself down to rest on a lawn as soft as moss, with little flowerbeds dotted about it here and there. ‘Oh, how glad I am to get here! And what is this on my head?’ she exclaimed in a tone of dismay, as she put her hands up to something very heavy, that fitted tight all around her head.

‘But how can it have got there without my knowing it?’ she said to herself, as she lifted it off, and set in on her lap to make out what it could possibly be.

It was a golden crown.


~To be a God, Hero, or a Tree? “


“Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.”

~Czesław Miłosz

Prolific poet, essayist, and historian Czesław Miłosz (born June 30, 1911) was also a diplomat, who served as Poland’s cultural attaché to France and the United States.

From Goodreads

~Can You Live Inside?~


“My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope – make yourself a structure you can live inside.”

Aimee Bender

Happy 45th birthday, Aimee Bender! The American author writes books marked by surrealism and light, that still manage to stab the reader in the heart.

Mindfully Musing: How to Pull an Arrow From Your Heart


Turning my attention to the fact that…there definitely is an arrow in my heart. Now how to remove the arrow…and how to dress and heal the wound.

“If someone comes along and shoots an arrow into your heart, it’s fruitless to stand there and yell at the person. It would be much better to turn your attention to the fact that there’s an arrow in your heart…”

~Pema Chodron


~A Mother to Her Son~


November 7th 2014

I am trying to fall asleep…
and when my mind gets quiet…
nights can be terrifying.
I disconnected the bond between myself and my son…by choice….
with us…it is all or it is nothing.
Has to be that way.
And as the day of our reunion looms near..
I feel my disconnection fading…
and it is terrifying to me.
I never wanted to be a mother.
I never, ever wanted to be a mother on my own.
I questioned my worthiness when I became pregnant.
I questioned my right to bring a child into this world.
Why me,
Why now
Why like this
I did not know then…
And I do not know now.
Perhaps these are things I will never know…
One thing I do know.
My son saved my life.
Saved me from myself….
Without him blessing my life when did…
I would not be writing this to you today.
Without him…
Adventures would still feel too risky.
Love would still feel unknown.
My crazy beautiful colorful world…
would simply not exist.
I am blessed.
All I wanted for my son is what he deserved.
All I want for my son is what he deserves…
And one amazing parent…
Who is fucked up..
is always better than..
will always be better than…
one morally incompetent parent…
Who won’t stop fucking up.
I am now raising my son alone.
I am it.
I am now facing my life alone.
I am it.
I am now walking my path alone.
I am it.
We are it…He and I.
Me and him…Mother and Son
It is our time. It is our life. It is our triumph.
May we love without hate.
May we live without fears.
May we learn without cause.
May we laugh without tears.
May we always know where we are now.
May we always remember where we were then.
May we always look forward to where we will go next…
And may we always find…
Moments of joy…
Moments of hope…
Moments of peace..
Moments of awe…
Moments of thanks.
Thanks for each other…
Thanks for ourselves.
I hope to be amazing.
I really do.
I hope to be awesome.
I hope to be brave.
I hope to be lovely.
I really do.
Because my son…
I hope to be all of this and more…
For you.

~Beautifully Flawed ~


You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed. And you are beautiful.

Amy Bloom

Happy 61st birthday, Amy Bloom! After selling her first novel, in her mid thirties, Bloom decided to buy it back because she thought that it wasn’t good enough. Instead, her first publication was a short story collection, Come to Me, that was shortlisted for a National Book Award.