Yessir.
T’was my idea, however.
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She religious?
What’s the reason for the question?
Curiosity. You’re an active member of your church. If she’s as religious as you this would make an interesting dynamic.
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She’s about as religious as I am.
I’m not religious.
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Another day of 2 minutes, 3 minutes, 3 minutes of this stretch, while listening to a singing bowl performance YouTube:
The ‘tadpole’ phase is the one I have most difficulty with, right now. Getting my hips up while having my knees down is gonna have to be earned.
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Ok. You see me surprised.
That’s probably a cultural difference between Germany and the US.
Since you’re often talking about church and also about becoming a Deacon, I thought you must be religious.
In Germany you usually only go to church under one of three conditions:
- You’re religious
- It’s Christmas
- A funeral
It’s Sunday and it’s a tradition
The 4th point was still true 30 years ago, but not anymore.
Mmmm.
If I go to the hospital, does that imply that I’m sick? Perhaps I’m a doctor. Perhaps there’s construction work on the hospital to be done. Perhaps I’m just curious and wanna see what’s in that big ol’ building.
At the age I’m at now, I don’t claim to be either religious or spiritual, materialistic or whatever.
Now yes, I am a deacon on trial, in a church. Of the Judeo-Christian ilk.
But.
I do not believe that outer observation of anything will get me (or anyone else) into heaven, nor will it bring about the Kingdom of God.
I do not accept that Jesus Christ died for my sins, seeing as I don’t correspond to the ‘sinner’ consciousness.
I don’t even believe you have to ‘die’ to be in ‘heaven’.
But I do consider myself a disciple of Jesus Christ.
It’s similar to America, then.
- You drank and fornicated yourself silly and feel bad because you’ve been taught that God frowns upon such behavior and people who participate in such behaviors.
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Loving myself, as I am now > denying myself love because I’m not who someone else wants me to be
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Running Genesis: The Art of Happiness and Joy or “GArt” (which is what I’m choosing to call this title until I have a better shortened version) for 3 minutes and Stroke of Art the same.
I ended up stopping GArt at 5 minutes.
I am healing from whatever throat illness is going around right now, I had lost my voice this morning.
I went into a moment of panic and terror; I see in myself that I’m afraid to lose my voice.
I’m certain it goes deeper and I’m determined to ascertain what vulnerability I have in my psychology that allows my to be susceptible to this illness.
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“The demands that a gentleman makes are upon himself; those that a small man makes are upon others.”
-Confuscius
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This is DEEP
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(Inserted characters are inserted, being characters that desired insertion)
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I decided to try out a random exercise of creating a story from the top of my head, to add a bit of fun to the basic free-flow writing I’ve mentioned before.
I would urge a reader not to try and make sense of it; it’s not meant to make sense. I’m only sharing it here to track something.
Anyways.
Once upon a time, there was a girl.
She had three sons, two of which died before childbirth.
One was born again, one was never seen again.
The surviving one had a hard life. He stole, he cheated and lied.
He hated himself bitterly and cried himself to sleep each night after a long, arduous, miserable day of trudging through the trenches of modern capitalism; on the road to nowhere.
And then, he died.
The end.
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I ran GArt yesterday night. Tomorrow will be the next day of play. Not too pressed to run titles at the moment.
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Over this weekend staying, along with my parents, with my kid’s mom when our Air BnB host neglected to extend our reservation, I noticed how cooly detached I am towards her.
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15 minutes, Stroke of Art.