Love is Over-Rated

I said that Love is over-rated and I meant it. At least, the shallow, weak emotions society sees as Love .  And I’ll go even further and say most people don’t know what Love truly is.  I wonder: Do I even know?

Honestly, I don’t know if I know. That’s just the nature of not knowing. But, I know what Love is not and that gives me an idea of what Love feels like.

Love is not dependence.

“We need to help people to discover the true meaning of love. Love is generally confused with dependence. Those of us who have grown in true love know that we can love only in proportion to our capacity for independence.” — From The World According To Mister Rogers

Love is not something that goes away with time.

The more we love, the more we want to love and it begins with love for ourselves.

Love is infinite and all powerful.

Love can see beyond the facade people portray as themselves. It is a mirror that reflects the real you back perfectly and allows you to see the parts of yourself that is blocking your desires. Love does not lie to you and allow you to remain stagnant.

There is a literary device used in many stories to show a character’s growth throughout life and the many ways they change, but throughout the many obstacles and events, their dreams never change nor does their core essence. This device is called Bildungsroman. I think this is one word that can help describe one of Love’s attributes.

I believe societies Love is become the direct opposite of Bildungsroman because true Love would never turn you away from something you desire. It would never stand in your way or hold you back from reaching your goals.

Love pulls you forward. Whether it’s the Love of someone else or your own, it will direct you in a positive way. Love does not have a negative connotation. It draws you in.

 

It is not the thought that matters, but the action. Love perfects you, it does not tear you down. Love expands your horizons, it does not tie you down. Love is a fire that burns away the lies and stupidity and tempers the truth. Love wakes you up and shakes off the contentment and satisfaction you thought was good enough.

Many may say it, many may think it, many may want it, but few actually do it.

“You think because he doesn’t love you that you are worthless. You think that because he doesn’t want you anymore that he is right — that his judgement and opinion of you are correct. If he throws you out, then you are garbage. You think he belongs to you because you want to belong to him. Don’t. It’s a bad word, ‘belong.’ Especially when you put it with somebody you love. Love shouldn’t be like that. Did you ever see the way the clouds love a mountain? They circle all around it; sometimes you can’t even see the mountain for the clouds. But you know what? You go up top and what do you see? His head. The clouds never cover the head. His head pokes through, because the clouds let him; they don’t wrap him up. They let him keep his head up high, free, with nothing to hide him or bind him. You can’t own a human being. You can’t lose what you don’t own. Suppose you did own him. Could you really love somebody who was absolutely nobody without you? You really want somebody like that? Somebody who falls apart when you walk out the door? You don’t, do you? And neither does he. You’re turning over your whole life to him. Your whole life, girl. And if it means so little to you that you can just give it away, hand it to him, then why should it mean any more to him? He can’t value you more than you value yourself.” ―Toni Morrison

“I do not trust people who don’t love themselves and yet tell me, ‘I love you.’ There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt.” ―Maya Angelou

“Letting go doesn’t mean that you don’t care about someone anymore. It’s just realizing that the only person you really have control over is yourself.” ―Deborah Reber

 

Creative People And their Muse

Breaking down poetic boundaries and looking inside

 

Have you ever met someone very interesting and wanted to get to know them?

If you have, and most of us have, you will better understand what it feels like for a writer to have a new idea. The ideas do not appear as words interacting with other words. The characters are people, who live in towns and cities, and have lives and hopes and dreams of their own. Connections are built between the characters that lead to dynamic interactions and have lasting consequences for the story.

While writing the story, feelings develop for the characters because the writer knows how they feel. It’s with these emotions, the ones that exist in the writer’s mind that create characters so real and interesting, that the reader becomes involved and develops emotional attachment.

Ideas sometimes grow into forbidden orchards and conversations sometimes bloom into beautiful gardens.

It might seem strange to you that a writer creates a killer who carries a knife with a short, dull blade because he likes to watch the light’s in his victims eyes flicker out right after they die. And how about the writer who talks about a character as if the person is really alive? It might seem strange when a writer models a victim or love interest after someone they know in real life. But, writing is a very strange thing indeed. It’s strange to have people talking in your head, strange to imagine murdering someone and how to get away with it. Writing is strange in a million ways.

Time and time again, creative people collect poison water from a shallow spring and carefully filter it until it is clear and sparkling.

Writers enjoy creating people and stories. It’s part of their lives. The Muse gives her stories and takes them away. Life is good when the Muse dances. Life is miserable when she hides herself away. It becomes like a drug. It’s their way of life. The Muse is an important part of any creative person’s mental and emotional support group.

 

So the next time the creative person in your life is talking about their story as if it is real or you recognize features of a character in the checkout line at the neighborhood grocery store, just be happy that the creative person is being creative.

Marriage, the Wrong Way

Marriage is not a Mystery

it just takes more effort than most can afford

 

Why do people marry the wrong person? I think it’s because they marry too fast. People have a tendency to change over time which could cause a couple to grow apart. It’s important to date for a good long while and get to know them really well before you think you want to spend your whole life with them.

There will be tons of details about your unhappy marriage and what it’s like to be stuck in one. But, not much in the way of explaining how to avoid one.

I believe most unhappy marriages can be avoided by spending a lot of time with the person you want to marry. It takes time to really know someone and it takes time for them to know the real you. But, you know what takes even longer? Growing old with someone you don’t want to be around.

Could you imagine trying to make a life with someone who doesn’t value the things you value or with someone who doesn’t “get” your ideas or understand the things you want for the future? A nightmare with the devil narrating your slow minute by minute life, while you are conscious of what you passed up by not doing the right thing and making yourself happy, and this continues until you die.

Or does it?

Five Minutes Will Change Everything

The twentieth century was Hell on Earth for many people. Millions upon millions suffered unspeakable horrors; from the two wars that ripped through land, home and soul to the depressions and famines People say the lucky ones died quickly. Some slowly starved to death, some became ill, some died at the hands of criminals, others committed suicide, and some came through only to realize they lost themselves somewhere along the way.

It was absolute misery. Human reek and stench filled the nose, moldy food filled the mouth, unpaid bills filled the hand, and the absence of productivity filled the mind. Yet, everywhere someone held the promise of hope, all the time lost and all the pain felt was marked as a defining moment in their life.

If someone doesn’t have terrible moments to look back on, they won’t consider the amazing blessings they have before them Things such as depression and anxiety grip the masses and keeps them from enjoying life, erasing the possibilities of their pursuit and replacing it with loneliness and fear.

Drugs help and counseling has it’s place, but nothing is as affective as living everyday to it’s fullest degree. Good days and bad days, even hell on Earth, manipulate the equation of life and change the outcome of each and every moment; so much so, that the memory of a once hellish moment factors into the present and changes what one feels about then and now.

If you are depressed, if you are lonely, if you are anxious go outside. I urge you to take a step in a new direction. Just for five minutes do the thing that you so badly want to try, do the thing you think you can’t, press yourself to reach farther than you did yesterday, and for those five minutes you will be a super human because you are doing what you thought was impossible. Sp, you truly became a Super You.

No matter the life, no matter the station, no matter the family you were born into, you can be the person you want to be. Whether you want to be an artist, a musician, a writer, or maybe you’ve been dreading the crowd at the local store, you can do it. All of it.

You are capable of amazing things because you are an amazing person. You are a unique person and all your dreams are  front and center, waiting for you to believe in yourself enough to claim them. The only thing that stopped you from being the person you’ve always wanted to be is the fact that you’ve not thought it possible. Something, or possibly someone, made you believe that you weren’t worthy of the dreams you have, that whether or not you will achieved your goals depended on someone else. Well, you are worthy and whether or not you reach your dreams depends on you.

Five minutes, right now, will change your life forever. Write that story, draw that picture, play that song, face that crowd, become that person you want to be.  Being a Super You will get easier five minutes at a time.

Moon Mission Kickstarter (an Elon Musk must see)

Elon Musk please get a Kickstarter going to help Space X land on the moon and begin the Moon Base. Part One of the mission would be to perform a moonwalk on the moon and lower the flag to half-staff (for 24 hours) in honor and memory of John Glenn and the other astronauts who have also walked on the moon. Since so many have led the way into space, this will be a small tribute to their sacrifice. As seen below, this kickstarter example uses Glenn’s name and his Apollo mission. However, the details are up to you. There would be multiple Kickstarters in the future for the following phases of Moon Colonization.

The donation levels would look something like this:

$25 dollars John Glenn Mission Shirt

$100 John Glenn Mission Flag (plus Shirt)

$500 John Glenn Mission Silver Coin (plus Flag and Shirt)

$1,000 John Glenn Space Mission Patch (plus Shirt, Flag, and Coin)

$5000 John Glenn Mission Gold Coin (limited number available.) (plus Flag and Shirt)

$10,000: Watch Cockpit Live Stream from comfort of your own home (video and audio) (plus 25, 100, 500, 1000 prizes)

$100,000: Skype with astronaut and Kickstarter Crew in orbit during mission, (plus 25, 100, 500, 1000, 10K prizes)

$1 Million: recieve a gram of moon dust (plus 25, 100, 500, 1000, 10K, 100K prizes)

$5 million: receive a moon rock brought back just for you. (plus 25, 100, 500, 1000, 10K, 100K, 1M prizes)

$500 Million: reserve a seat on mission space craft. Only 1 Available (restrictions apply). (plus 25,100, 500, 1000, 1M, 5M prizes)

$1 Billion: recieve a 5 minute stroll on the moon (you can pick your own rock and moon dust sample) (plus 25,100, 500, 1000, 1M, 5M 500M prizes)(1 available) (restrictions apply)

John Glenn earned his place in history. Now earn yours.

Automatic Writing, Channeling, or Dowsing Fiction

Dowsing Fiction: Part 1
“Getting in Touch with Yourself”

by thadd presley

 

There are many ways to get into the flow of writing. But, lately the usual hasn’t been working for me. Things like music, background noises, even sounds from the forest right outside my house have been distracting enough to interrupt my train of thought. And if you are a writer or happen to live with a writer, possibly even if you know a writer, you know all there is to know about not breaking their focus. It’s brutal for you and them. Trust me, a writer’s frustration towards anyone who interrupts them is worse than the painters, musicians, and maniacs put together. But, through this dark mass of frustration, I have found a new device I’m willing to try. One which I would like to share with you.

It’s a method called automatic writing, but you must be warned that some believe it to be dangerous. Their fear is somewhat justified by numerous accounts throughout history. The danger, they say, comes from the idea that automatic writing is a form of spirit possession. The same way a medium channels the dead, an automatic writer is allowing someone besides themselves to control their body. By doing so they are opening a doorway, much like an Ouija board, which could create a connection with something other than intended.

My own belief about the dangers of automatic writing is this: Thereis always a chance of being influenced by a spirit, or the entire spirit world, just as we are being influenced by demons or helped by angels every moment of everyday of our life. I believe completely in the invisible world. So, my warning, is to become smarter everyday by researching things before you attempt them.

We know many of many instances, places, things, and even people that open us up to the influences from the spirit world, so it’s nothing we haven’t experienced before. We’ve all been to church, temple, or mosque and felt a higher force guiding us, and we’ve all heard a song and been transported to another time and place by the music, we all been in a group and heard a convincing speaker, or read something that made us emotional, and we’ve all been subjected to ideas and thoughts not our own. Automatic writing is no different. However, a little caution and a little research goes a long way on the first day of any project.

On this first day, anyone wanting to attempt automatic writing should not focus on the writing coming from anywhere but inside of themselves. Trying to understand the story inside of yourself should be the point of this exercise. To divine your own purpose, your own story, and access your higher self, or your subconscious mind as as some might put it, will unlock a treasure of knowledge that has been suppressed throughout your life.

The step by step guide on how to begin automatic writing will be in the next part.  For now, I urge anyone interested in this method to research meditation and choose a style to practice. Also read about an Egyptian named Thoth and allow the knew knowledge to guide you.

 

 

 

Black Sleep

“The Black Sleep”
by: Thadd Presley

I can only tell this once and, in all honesty, would like to keep silent on this account completely; except for the children that might follow my direction and possibly choose a destructive path such as I’ve taken, I would indeed find a way to keep my life’s decisions a dark secret and work towards erasing all record of myself from the Earth, in hopes of turning every eye from my business forever, and a happy man it would make me; to see the end of this thing called fame, I would do all this, but it’s impossible to put the smoke back into the pipe, after it’s been enjoyed, and while this knowledge saddens me, I will forever more be saddened most by every child who looks at my life’s work as something to be desired and at myself as a role model to be emulated.

Obviously, not realizing, or perhaps pretending they don’t see, that I rose to these delirious heights, accumulated rare treasures, and achieved such glamorous proportions by turning against my upbringing, by throwing aside the wise words of my faithful fathers and goodly mothers, and most of all by disgracing this very special vessel I was born into; believe me, ou must, when I tell you, it is with a heavy heart, for I would like to not face this, nor make any mention of it at all, but if ever I am to have any sense of humanity again, I must admit that by attaining greatness in the sight of others, I forfeited the invisible part of myself, which is the part that matters most, and I am afraid of what awaits me on the other side of this life; that is, if there’s anything at all, I wish, with all my being, that I could trade back all that I have for that single thing I once thought didn’t exist.

I have often wished for Death, but not because I don’t enjoy life, I wish for Death to be what I most need it to be: a black sleep, a darker, much deeper sleep than the hellish, thin nights of dreams I wake from each morning and fall back to each eve.

However, the wishes made in life quickly recede in the light of truth and the very moment I imagine anything more than the darkness my Death needs to be, a cold sweat dowses my brow and the velvet blackness begins to pulsate until a bright sliver appears and cracks splinter the horizon just enough for my eyes to adjust to the sharp, crisp dagger of light reflecting off the waves churning below in the inky, limitless sea of pitch.

In the distance, I see dashes of swooping through the sky, all differing sizes, gleefully thrusting pitchforks into men and women. These tortured people cry silently and ball their fists into their eyes and mouths, some pull at their hair and claw the skin from their faces. Each trying someway to ignore the pain brought on by their decisions and actions before falling to the Black Sleep.

I see many small devils attack a thin, pale, naked man and lift him into the air under the power of their muscled wings. A scream fills my head, but his mouth doesn’t move. Alongside a background of sucking and smacking waves, which is how that sea of hot tar sounds to my human ears, I hear a dark chorus of cellos and violins, and a hundred different voices calling out to the souls who still live in the Universe of Free-Will. Joined in a deafening choir, each voice pleads in it’s own words, for those who still have the strength and can, to turn from wickedness and accept the truth by faith alone.

These voices, crying together as a choir pray, and lament, and scream in torment; and for a moment I wonder, perhaps I even ask aloud: Am I the only one who hears them? Am I the only one who knows the truth of this Darkness crawling under a black sky? And, if I am, who will believe me?

Sadness, as I’ve never known it, fills me and I want so much not to be a liar, and a thief, and a braggart, and a lover of Earthly desires; only, so people might believe me when I tell them that the fame and fortune I have attained, nor the great wealth and perfect health I enjoy, compares to the eternal spirit I place in peril with every action and thought, and that beyond the thin veil that separates life from The Black Sleep, Time does not exist.

I know, in that moment; that, everything worth knowing was a single, simple truth, that forgetting everything I’d learned before made me a genius, and a legend, and immortal, and rich, and healthy, and capable of super-human feats yet seen by mankind.

I know when I wake from the sleep, I will give it all away and walk with the lost, be with the homeless, eat with the hungry, drink with the thirsty, and live with the dying. I will do this because the dreams of my Black Sleep depend on it.

A will bring this great message to the world:

Do not feed the hungry, eat with them.
Do not house the homeless, live with them.
Do not give water to the thirsty, drink with them.

I realize everything now.

As soon as the choir stops screaming and lamenting, and praying; when the cellos and violins quiet, and the black, crawling sea of tar stops sucking and churning below; as soon as my eyes adjust to the dim light on the horizon and I wake up from this Black Sleep, I will change my life.



Copyright Thadd Presley — All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.



Fear, Imagination, And No-One Really Knows You’re Alive

“Fear, Imagination, And The Fact That No-One Really Knows You’re Alive”

To push through the distractions of life and ignore the modern concerns, to willingly focus our attention on being ourselves, to offend people, to be offended, to learn things about ourselves we don’t want to know, to be put in our place, to have friends, to lose friends, to be part of something, to be alone, to walk into places that are too loud and too crowded, and to interact with people when we don’t want to, to learn a truth we might never understand, is the reason we are alive.

Feelings and emotions are the biggest part of our lives for a reason and they mean something. They mean we’re alive. Emotions are powerful and crippling and long-lasting, and wonderful. Learn to understand them and we learn to understand ourselves. We shouldn’t stop living just because it’s uncomfortable sometimes. Live more now, learn more now, be more now because you are alive now. Someday you will be dead and that’s going to be one more thing that we’re not gonna wanna do, so we have to act while we’re alive and do things that push us further than we’ve gone before, learn new things, go to new places, see new people, be a real living person for the little time we have left.

Safe places might as well be coffins. They separate us from the real emotions we feel just as real life begins to happen. Pain, suffering, sorrow, sadness, nervousness, confrontation, irritability, anger: things can not be avoided all the time, so we must learn and adapt to them and eventually we will gain more and more control until we overcome them. And we will learn to control them, if we want to be a better person. Dodge them, hide from them, go to the safe place and the emotions then control us.

Am I saying we’re a bad people if anxiety stops us from enjoying life? No. But we’ll enjoy more of our life and be more of the person we’d like to be if we allow ourselves out into the world and feel the uncomfortable reality of life.

Life is not all about being in a good place all the time. It’s also about the scary places just as much and the fears that come with those places. Yes, we realize anxiety is scary and it’s a real emotional response to a real world situation. It’s truly happening to us and we are right to feel the way we do. But, it doesn’t last forever. When it comes, it’s like a wave. Ride it out.

There is nothing fake or easy about it. There is no way to just get over it when it comes. Our anxieties and our fears can be controlled and we should practice controlling them every chance we get because we should want to overcome our fears.

Again, I’m not saying our emotions aren’t real, I’m saying they are not justified by reality. Just like the monster in our childhood closet. Were we scared? Sure. But was there a real reason to be? No. It was all in our mind.

Just like the dark, once we spent enough time in it, grew up in it, we learned there was no reason to be afraid. The same will happen with crowds, noises, places, and all the other things that make us feel anxiety and fear. It comes from the unfamiliarity of the situation. Just like sleeping alone in the dark causes all types of fear at first and we imagine all manner of things in the closet, under the bed, and lurking in the dark. It’s only our imagination working overtime.

The same things happen with crowds of people and new places. We imagine the people are thinking of us and talking about us. We imagine they are laughing at us, looking at us, pointing at us. We just know they remember every little thing we do and that we’re always on their minds. They just can’t wait until they get a chance to laugh at us again.

But, none of that is true. No one is thinking bad things about us. No one is laughing at us or pointing out our mistakes. No one is talking about that time we dropped our fork in the cafeteria. In fact, practically no one even knows we’re alive. And that’s the thing we should be afraid of, really. Going our entire lives and being afraid of our imagination and too scared to go to the store, so when we die no one even knew we were alive.

 

Poetry: MESSIAH

 

M.E.S.S.I.A.H.

by Thadd Presley

Miracles mirror the Maker’s material
Even established events of entertainment are ethereal
So that such a show of Self, so shamelessly spiritual,
Should somehow shatter the signal of the subliminal
Image of the Immaculate Individual
And allow an Appreciation of anything abysmal
However Hellbound the Heretic’s Hypocritical Hymnal

Reverse Image (part 3)

Reverse Image
part 3
by Thadd Presley

What Delilah saw at that moment frightened her. The top half of her mother’s face changed. First, her pupils dilated, but not together. Each one on its own grew to the maximum size and then shrunk back down again. Her nose flared much like a horse’s would in the spring. Delilah stood and stepped away from the table. Her mother had become someone else.

She didn’t know why this was happening, but she thought it might be a stroke. Her mother was still young. Thirty-eight was young for anyone to die.

Clare saw a color of red that she never knew existed. It filled her vision and then doubled over on itself. She saw the walls of her world deepen and drown in the color. It was the color of murder, of hatred and sex and violence. God didn’t create this color to be seen and talked about. I was the last color anyone was ever to see. She knew deep in her heart that she was dying and it was a good thing.

“Mom. God.” Delilah screamed and ran to the breakfast counter where her cell phone laid. “911,” she screamed. “911.”
A woman had answered the emergency line before Clare knew what to say. “What’s your emergency?”

“My mom. My..she’s having a heart attack.”

“OK. Calm down. What’s your address.”

Delilah took a deep breath and answered all the questions.

Finally, there were sirens in the air.

The siren grew louder and closer. Too close for them to be for anyone but herself.

Clare opened her eyes. Red still covered everything and she still certain she would die. No one saw that and lived, she kept telling herself. No one could see that and live.

“Mom. Mom.”

The voice of her daughter was there in the red somewhere and that was somehow the worst part of it all. Why did she have to be involved?

The sirens stopped and doors slammed. The red was growing. It was outside now. Even the sky would be covered in red.
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

No, Clare thought. If I hear you then the red will get you.

“Look at her eyes, Cap. What do you think happened?”

“Looks to be a serious case of subconjunctival hemorrhage.”

Delilah screamed. The next thing she saw was the kitchen floor.

“She’s coming around, Cap. You alright sweetheart?”

“My mom. She had a hemorrhage. Her brain.”

The paramedic sat down beside her and smiled. “Let’s sit up.” He helped her. “There now. Your mom is fine. It was scary for her and for you, but that’s all. Nothing serious.”

“What happened?”

“Well, we don’t know why but she became extremely stressed and it busted a blood vessel in her eye. Both of them actually. She’s going to the hospital.”

“She’s OK?”

“Yes. Very OK.”

“I want to go with her.”

“That’s fine. You want to go ahead and stand up?”

Together, they managed to walk to the ambulance.

A moment of panic shot through Delilah’s chest when she saw her mother’s eyes. They were both filled with blood. Her mother looked like a zombie. Quickly, she snapped a picture and smiled.

“I got your good side that time.”

“You’re not funny. I don’t know how you can laugh at me. After what you’ve done. Being pregnant is hard enough on a family, but…”

“Pregnant? Mom!” For a moment, Delilah didn’t think she heard her right. “Mom, I’m not pregnant. Who told you that?”
“Don’t lie to me. You already…”

“I’m not pregnant. You must have hit your head or something when you fell.” She looked at the paramedic who wishing he was invisible. “I’m not, I swear.”

Clare was visibly upset.

“We can settle this once we get to the hospital,” he told them. “There is a planned parenthood clinic there that offers free pregnancy tests. You can go from there. How’s that?”

“O.K.” Delilah quickly assented.

Clare didn’t say anything but nodded her head.

“Let’s get this rig on the road, Cap!”

Slowly, the ambulance made it’s way onto the street and ten minutes later they pulled in at Methodist Medical Center.
An hour later, mother and daughter sat together in the E.R. A negative pregnancy test sat in a paper cup, wrapped in a paper towel.

“But, I don’t understand why you thought I was pregnant in the first place?”

“You said you found out something this morning and I thought you meant…”

“Mom, jeez. I learned something from Youtube that’s all. Really, I should have realized it a long time ago.” She smiled. Her mother’s blood red eyes looked back at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I love you, mom. Thank you for worrying about me.”

“Well, child, that my job. It’s not this hard most of the time. What can I say? You’re a good kid.”

Ryan was escorted into the room by a nurse who was telling him that everything was going to be fine. “Clare is in no danger,” she said. “She just had a scare and fainted.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been one heck of a morning for all of us.”