That is the key to peace: notice it. What does it look like to you and how does it feel? For me, I notice peace through meditation and writing, even when I am dealing with the most destructive emotions or circumstances. And the truthful, honest fact is that there is always going to be some challenge that you will have to face. Sometimes, it will only be a slight irritation, and other times it will break your back and suck you dry of every ounce of spirit you thought you had.

If you really want to know how to make peace and live that peace, you have to ask yourself the question, “Who am I?” because only when you ask that question can you find, in yourself, the strength to make peace. Every challenge, every struggle, every situation that you are confronted with will throw you off or knock you down. But when you ask the question, “Who am I?” and you answer honestly by acting with love, integrity and respect not only for others, but for yourself, you can live in a state of peace.

In the pool of life, ripples on the surface do not appear without first meeting with the pebble of intention. So what is your intention? What are your ideas about how to cultivate peace and what personal skills have you to make your own ripple? Like it or not, we’re inheriting the world with all of its positives and negatives, and in order for all of us to partake in the miracle known as life, we need more expressions of diplomacy and understanding in our personal, social and political lives. Robert Fulghum, an American writer once said, “Peace is not something you wish for; it’s something you make, something you do, something you are, and something you give away.”

So now I’m asking, what have you got to give?

So what is that? I mean, does that mean that choices can be a metaphor for life and that a road has nothing to do with either of them? So how do i symbolize all the three in one? Is it even possible?  I say we make a metaphor for life simpler.  Like… The chunk I just picked off  of the bottom of my foot.

But I bet the moron who thought; “Life is like a road” will make some sentimental crap out of a chunk of skin too. So what makes it like a bit of peeling skin from the sole of my foot?  To that question reader, i have no answer.   Feel free to move past the awkwardness and bizarreness of it and answer me if you feel you have a substantial answer.

No one wants to be average.  Everyone wants to be the rock star, the famous player, the one person everyone looks up to.  Deep down, we all want to find something we can call our own, something that makes this world worth living through.  Why is it that we try so hard to find something that is right in front or our eyes?

I wasn’t enough for my family, or so they made me believe.  My dream, it wasn’t enough for them until they saw it could really become a reality, could really make some money.  Dreams aren’t about money, they’re about fulfillment.  No one wants to be the assistant, the plumber, the janitor or even the manager.  Sometimes we try to be something we aren’t because we aren’t given a choice.  I wish we could be given that choice.

What is life to most people?  Why is it that most people just think it’s some joy ride? Why don’t they do what they really want to?  Maybe they think they are doing what they really want.  Maybe they’re too numb to know.  Or maybe they numbed themselves because they were shot down so many times by life. Not by life… by the people in it.

Life is hard, life is tough and harsh but it doesn’t shoot you down constantly like that.  People do.  People tell you that what you think is wrong, that you can’t believe the things you want to.  They destroy your expression ans try to recreate their own in your eyes.  They try to smother everything, almost like they don’t want thought.  We’re oppressed people, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to express.  i want to express, I want to stop holding it all in.  I want to be me, for it to be okay to believe something else.  I want to be alive.

Sometimes I sit here, looking at the screen, wondering what to type.  There are so many thoughts, ideas and stories just jumping out all at once.  I’ve never given them the chance to breathe.  Well, not me.  People never wanted me to express my own beliefs.  I couldn’t be who i wanted to be around others.  If I wasn’t one way i was some kind of freak, if I didn’t like this genre of music I was weird.  You can’t be different.  If I wasn’t white I was made fun of, if I wasn’t Mexican I was ridiculed.  If you aren’t black you can’t be a part of the society, especially if you’re something else.  Being one or the other wasn’t good enough for either side.  Why is it that color defines who we are?  What if I was pink? What would people think then? How would they categorize me?  Or would they just try to kill me?

Why can’t we just believe that we want?  Why can’t people just accept these things?  Why can’t we be unique?  What’s so wrong with being me?  I want to scream that at the top of my lungs.  What’s so wrong with expression of self? What’s so wrong  with wanting to write, to play video games, to like different things other than the “social norm”.  Why can’t we just be who we were meant to be?  Why is it that we all have to try to fit into someone else’s image?

I’ve tried to answer these questions before and came up with the same things over and over again.  Acceptance.  Well, you know, the ultimate form of acceptance is someone loving who you really are, not just some fake image you show to the world in an attempt to gain fake love, fake acceptance.  But that’s all some people are willing to give.

Passion is the greatest emotion that a single being can feel. It is all consuming and devouring, twisting through our bodies, our minds and our souls, taking us deeper into a fire that can never be quenched. The barest brush of fingertips across lips, the back of a hand caressing softly against a lover’s cheek, can cause us to notice the initial small spark. It is the urge to suddenly pull your lover close and hold them, kiss them tenderly and whisper those sweet things that only lovers understand.

As you see it starts out small, but as with all wildfires that spark is only the beginning. A hand gliding across smooth skin, lips colliding in search of something that cannot be described, teeth grazing flesh…all of which causes that small spark to grow and spread into a small flame in the pit of our stomachs, the sign of passion building, growing the trying to reach our for a kindred flame, desperate to consume, desperate to burn freely as all fired should.

Through touch and taste we map out the bodies before us, tracing the path that this fire shall burn , learning the flesh that bared to us by a willing soul, words spoken to reach out to that kindred flame, to fuel it, to feed it, to beckon it to us so that we may truly feel its intoxicating and addictive heat.

Boundaries are shed ans flesh meets flesh, bodies pressing into each other in an intricate and exotic dance that only one who has experienced before will understand. The wildfire builds and spreads, swallowing two spirits whole, trying to melt them into one being, much like a metal crafter melts gold to make precious bands that bind. But a fire can only burn as hot as the sun for so long. The fire reaches its peak heat, scorching the souls involved, leaving the being blackened and charred, and dying out almost as quickly as it built.

The blackened soul is left changed, but unharmed in truth. Flowers all ways grow back brighter and bigger after the fire has died. But then again, the spark that is passion never truly dies if you find that twin scorched soul, the one whose ire reached out to yours, pulled you in and enveloped you, melted you down to liquid ecstasy, and then the two souls solidify as one.

I have a lot to say, but not enough mouth to get it all out.  And sometimes I have to scrounge for anything at all.

We are all here, God knows why.  Is this all just a game?  Are we all nothing but fiction, fake?  Do we all have meaning, or do we have to find that out by ourselves?  What we are supposed to do, we have to make meaning out of nothing, out of air-oxygen, all this memories we breath, all this memories that we live for.  The deaf and blind still feel and smell, we all have something, we will never be nothing.  I’m not sure where I’m going with this but I’m trying to find a meaning.  I want to know what I’m destined to be, why I’m setting here right now, with a little light; sunshine, it’s just one big light bulb that we think grows flowers, trees, makes our shade of skin what it is.  Or is it all fake? Is this just a terrible dream that we all know too well?  Everyone wants to be unique, everyone loves the idea that their ideas are all original, but humankind is all too much alike.

Religion is all the same, worshiping something or some God, that some lonely people made up so his life would have meaning.  So he had something to believe in, and someone he thought would believe in him, something to live by.  I don’t need anyone, being lonely is not the worst feeling ever if you’re used to it.  Are we real, is this real?  Science, Math, English, Geography, History, we don’t need it, it was only created to find a deeper meaning to something so simple.  Is this just a game that some normal average being is playing and we are all simulations?  Does it matter?  But if this  was true, the person playing me sucks, I suck.  The person playing me needs to take more risks, I do.  Why do we think the way we think, why do we say the things we say?

Philosophers, deep thinkers, I’m sure, tried to figure this out to the point o being so frustrated they gave up, they quit, but they have to be right, they have to believe in something, so they do, they do what they want, they make up things that just must be true, but is it their choice?  Or has society, the world just made them believe they had choices.  Some people hate God, non-believers, because they believe he has condemned them to a living hell, but has he?

You’re a rebel, you can do whatever the f**k you want, right?  It’s time to move out of this so-called-hell, and make a trip to paradise.  Do something great, something that makes you believe in life, in meaning, write a book, try reading one.

All we want is meaning, all we want is purpose.  Maybe all you want is a flat screen TV, but after that you will want a DVD player, DVDs, a DVD burner, a computer to pirate your DVDs, then your in jail for wanting too much, but did you really want that TV? Or did the society, the world, make you think that you wanted it.  Reality is a big bunch of bologna.

Something this great is unbelievable, you must be dreaming; something this terrible can’t be real, please don’t let it be real.  It is.  It doesn’t matter if it’s real or fake, it will happen anyways, it’s real to us, you can’t wake up, you cant snap out of this daze, you are lost, one in a zillion, lost, you have to find yourself, who you want to be, but its not that simple, you need help, but no one knows, nobody knows what you think that you know, what you can’t put into words, you’re alone.

The mind is a terrible place to reside.  I learned.

Fabrications cannot be prevented, limits no longer exist.  Diagnosis to me, at first, was just a silly myth so that doctors could keep particular patients longer or feel better about themselves in some detrimental way.  Until you are actually faced with a piece of paper that bluntly admits, for lack of better term, you have something wrong with your brain, your life completely changes.  It’s not a matter of plain-sight seeing or reading headlines-it’s a game.  You’re the only player of this amusement, and even if you reach the last level, you’re still a loser.

In some way, Christ, everything falls apart.  No longer am I a free citizen.  My mind controls my every move and my every thought.  Empty cars on the side of a road scare me.  In those two seconds of passing that deserted vehicle, my thoughts race so swiftly that a horror novel is created in my mind.  Immediately,  I imagine that someone is waiting for me in the car.  And within moments, a gun is hoisted from isolation and aimed between my eyes.  Bang! I am killed.  Never can an automobile just be there by coincidence of horrible brakes or a dying engine.  Two seconds may not seem like a long time, but when your entire body is shaking frantically and your fingers are snaked around the door handle, it’s more that just a lifetime.  If death had a time limit, you might as well declare that my age is immortal.

Sleep has suffered, and it never did anything wrong.  When I announce to myself that it’s time for bed, I need to take into account that whatever time it is,  I must add forty-seven minutes.  In order to lock all of the doors, close and lock all of the windows, go back and check both doors and windows  check every room more that three times to assure that nobody is hiding underneath a bed or within a cluttered closet, lay down with restless eyes shifting back and forth, and leave the television on to fake out a criminal; yes, that all takes roughly fifty minutes.  My dreams are never haunted by biological terrorism or serial killer.  In translation,  I am not afraid when I am dreaming.  When I am awake, dear God put me back into fantasy.

I can no longer go to school without assuming one of the weird, tortured schoolmates will bring a gun to school and shoot anyone  who makes them upset.   For all I know, there could be a ticking bomb in the men’s restroom and waiting for me to activate its destruction when I turn on the hot water to wash my hands.  If there’s a moment when I’m alone,  I force myself to the side of a stranger.  Even if it’s someone who I do not get along with,  I will attach myself until a public view of safety is revealed.

I think that government official is behind my screen.  In ten years, trees will declare war on humans.  My hands are controlled by an alien who wants to be a puppet when he grows up.

Like I said there are no limits.  And there’s no cure.  All that can I do is hope that one day, these frantic, dramatic thoughts will not become something other than falsehood.  There’s a small truth that my friends will not gather together and murder me to harvest my organs-the key words there, small truth.

My mind now is the leader of this disease.  My thoughts fuel the world around me.  My intelligence is constantly overlooked and never considered lethal.

Or perhaps I’m just a mental case who needs to be put in isolation for awhile.

While scanning my old files in school I found this nice article about receiving a gift from an old newspaper published by our “beloved?” school. ^_^ While reading I found it interesting and decided to post it here.  This article was originally written by Tiffanie Laurel.

First, please consider who is giving you gift?

1.  This is very  important, if the someone giving  you a gift  is a person you do not like, or you know that  has alternative motives, bless yourself and politely refuse.  IF they insist, refuse again.  No matter what the gift is, refuse.

2. First, if you have been offered a gift from a person trying to make make amends, before accepting, consider if the gift is sincere; or, is the gift a peace bribe.  Secondly, if you were in the wrong, realize how desperate this person is to have things be better.  If the gift has personal or deeper meaning, seriously consider returning one in kind.  If a person gives you a gift of something that they prized, say, a memento of sorts, return it after you are done appreciating it, and perhaps offer them a gift with importance to you.

3. Now, if someone you do not know offers you a gift, seriously consider the motive.  If it’s a stranger trying to befriend you, think of what kind of relationship that will become.  Do think of what it means, not of what it is.  Remember, in the end the choice is up to your judgment - judge wisely.

4.  If you have a casual friend or co-worker  give a gift, it is not likely to be personal.  It is likely something given in a mass to multiple others, such as impersonal friends and other co-workers.  A thank you and smile should do.

5.(a)  On to a place more difficult, when a good friend offers you a gift, you will realize that it is to receive.  It’s easy to consider yourself worthy of a menial or temporary prize,  and it isn’t so easy when someone close to your heart gives a gift from their heart.  You may even feel guilty or unworthy or maybe shame or that you mus repay them with a gift yourself.  These concerns rob both people in the party.  Don’t feel guilty, a gift brings joy to the ‘giver’ when they see a free ‘joy’ of receiving on someone they love’s face.  If you feel that MUST repay them, simply be thankful and accept their love.

5. (b)  Now, when ‘the someone’ you love gives you a gift, that is the time when it is hardest to know what you feel about it and how to react.  You may act undeserving, refuse the gift because it was ‘too much’, or may quickly give them a gift in return.  Instead, show them how much it means, how amazing it is to you that they are ‘giving’ to you, and most importantly, share with them the joy of getting something without paying or working for it.

Truly, the best way to receive a gift is to show joy.  It rewards the giver and lets you enjoy your gift, receive a pleasure, and appreciation.  DO NOT act false, but think about the thought that went into your gift.

To receive what was not ‘bought’ for yourself is the most humble things.

To receive something you didn’t earn, could not earn, is humbling but it should bring happiness of getting something.

To say you don’t deserve or have not earned is irrelevant, but it can make the giver lose the happy balance that comes from giving, for truthfully, the fact they are giving you something that makes you deserving.  Accept it.

The receiver is always deserving in the heart of the one who loves them.  Enjoy your gift.  You are somebody’s favorite person.

Feel good.

Success is not measured by wealth. It is measured purely by satisfaction and personal feelings of fulfillment. To be successful is to die feeling as if something was accomplished, to die feeling as if the wasted time was wasted well. This has nothing to do with money, unless someone gains conceptual value from leaves of green paper and units of copper, something which is highly unlikely.

Consider the lottery. Don't all those numbers tempt you? Imagine all you could do with that money! Then think...what earned you that cash? Not hard work, to be sure. Maybe a dollar or two you found on the ground once, or maybe a measly bet you made with your bestfriend in your younger days won you that.

Point is, there was no substance to it, and that basically sums up an entire life of wealth. After you get bored or overwhelmed, what is there? What's left after your friends became fake? What is there when you realize that nothing you do really matters anymore?

That isn't success. If anything that's failure..

What happens after death?

For thousands of years many people have tried to figure out what happens after death.  In religion people believe that after you go either heaven of hell, (depending on a specific persons faith, the words be a bit different).

But what do i think happens, is that when I die or when we die we will become part of the universe and also be free from all th problems on earth like corruption, poverty, war, pollution etc.

Although no one may ever really know what happens after death until they die (which by then you can't tell anyone anyway).

We do know that people will always believe in heaven and hell.

Is love supposed to be so complicated as to bring out all these thoughts of betrayal and hate? To make a person as if they are second best? To push someone to edge? Or to the point of suicide?

If so, why do we continue to love?  Why do we continue to love the person who has made us become this way?

Is it the fact that we cannot get them out of our head? Or maybe because the fact that we love them and has burned their very incense of life into us? That we have had that need, that longing for them for too long, that it is far too permanent to git rid off?  Too impossibly embedded within us.. within our brains.. Within our hearts.. Within our souls.. That we could never let it go no matter how hard we tried. No matter how much we wanted it to.  No matter how badly we yearned for it to disappear. Pulling at us. Drowning our every thought or relinquish.  Destroying any hope of ever being free from his burden.

More so, this feeling of anxiety and wanting.. Of happiness and pain.. Of life and death.

Is to love someone to be jealous of anyone and everyone who touches them? Or sees them? For your one dieing wish is to be that they are happy and safe? That you would do anything for them?. Kill for them.. Die for them.. Murder yourself for them.

If this is love. Then there really is no difference in love and war.