“Nothing is so difficult as not deceiving oneself.” — Art of Quotation

“Nothing is so difficult as not deceiving oneself.” Ludwig Wittgenstein, philosopher, Austrian, British

via “Nothing is so difficult as not deceiving oneself.” — Art of Quotation

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A Love Story…

“You’re spending a lot of time grooming,” she said.

“I like to look my best,” he answered.

“I think we have a natural beauty, but I understand the need to keep your feathers in order.”

“You never look messy or ruffled,” he said, looking at her with love in his eyes.  “You always look perfect.”

“You’re just saying that because I said I would sit on the eggs tonight.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true,” he said, nibbling on her neck.

“I’m so happy we met by the pond,” she said, sweetly.

“Mates for life,” he whispered.

“You have fun tonight.  Be carful flying back in the dark.”

“I’m not going,” he said, nestling down next to her.

“But they will miss you.”

“I’d rather be with you than anyone else.”

She sighed and leaned against him.  “I love you.”

“I love you as well.”

The sky turned dark and the lovers watched

as the moon move across the sky into morning.

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Rose…

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Mail art…

Masks are stencils.

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The Gate…a story about the afterlife

Gate Leaves Fence Country Entrance Wooden

“I thought it would be bigger,” she said.

“Most people would agree,” he said, nodding.

“It’s just a garden gate.”

“I know.”

“So this is the entrance to hell?”

“There is no hell.  This is the entrance to an afterlife,” he said, smiling at her.

“And you’re Lucifer?”

“That’s one of my names.”

“I don’t hear any screaming.”

“Who would be screaming?”

“The people who are being burned in some pit, I guess.”

“Uh, we’re pretty much gardeners, here.  You know, flowers, shrubs, trees, that sort of thing.”

“No kidding,” she whispered.

“No.  No kidding.”

“What about all the bad souls?”

“There are no souls, just people who left the life they were living.  Men made up the idea of souls, so they could control the masses through fear.  It’s a con.”

“Can I go in and look around?”

“Not while you’re alive,” he said.

“This is a weird first date.  You know that don’t you?”

“You said you wanted to see where I lived.”

“I did, I just didn’t expect this would be the place.”

“It’s always springtime here. Perfect weather for gardens.”

“Are you…dead?”

“I’m immortal, so no.”

“Is there a heaven?”

“Of course not, but there are alternatives to here.  Your idea of heaven would be the place where those who believed what men told them to believe, would go.  There are a lot of rules there, things are white and a guy in a robe walks around and everyone feels like the lies they were told when they were alive, weren’t lies at all.  The people who choose that afterlife, kneel a lot and pray to other dead people.”

“Are there gardens there?”

“No.  It’s just a city with rules, bells and pompous spirits reading out of books they wrote themselves..”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Why do you think I left.”

“I get it.”

“It’s peaceful here.  Everyone is happy and doing something they love.  That’s the way I wanted things to be, that’s why I couldn’t stay in the other place.  All the lies, power struggles, and manipulation weren’t for me.  I wanted something organic.  Something calming and free, so my friends and I made this place.”

“It looks beautiful.”

“It is beautiful.”

“I want to come here when I die.”

“You can, just stay to the right, once you leave your body.”

“Tell me about another choice.”

“There’s a never ending Rave.  A lot of kids pick that one.  They can go to different stages and hear the music they love.  They can drink, party, do whatever they like, for as long as they’re there.  The best thing is that there are no hangovers, and no one ever feels sick, or exhausted.”

“I know people who would choose that one,” she laughed.  “Any others?”

“There’s one for people who want to travel.  They can go anywhere they like.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is.”

“So the afterlife isn’t what we think it is,” she said.

“In a way it is,” said Lucifer.  “There are a lot of options and it feels like a continuation of the life you just left, at least until you have to go back, or pick a new life somewhere else.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t stay here forever.  When your ribbon turns red, you have to pick a new body.”

“Ribbon?”

“Everyone who dies, gets a white ribbon.  When the ribbon turns red, it’s off to another lifetime.”

“What if a person doesn’t want to go?”

“The person can petition for an extended stay.  That means a she/he can ask others if they mind if she/he stays a bit longer. If people don’t care, and they never do, the person can stay longer.  But there’s only one extension, then one has to leave.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. You said this place was free.”

“It is.  Everyone is free to live as they please, but don’t forget that the larger game is about life, not death.  The game is about trying on different genders, colors, beliefs, cultures, planets, solar systems and all the rest.”

“What if a person doesn’t want to play?”

“Then the person is retired for good.”

“Gone forever?”

“Yes.”

“So a real death?”

“All deaths are real, but if one quits the game, she/he has chosen the Final Death.  No more awareness, consciousness.”

“It’s complicated, isn’t it?” she said.

“No, it’s actually quite simple.”

“There is no free will, is there?”

“Not really.  All games have rules.”

“Are there rules in the garden?”

“Sort of.  One isn’t allowed to harm the plants, or the garden itself.  We take a holistic approach and foster life.”

“That’s funny,” she said, smiling.  “Death, fostering life.”

“Want to get a pizza?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Deep dish, or thin crust?”

“Up to you,” he said, smiling at her.

 

 

 

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MORE NEIL GAIMAN — blackwings666

via MORE NEIL GAIMAN — blackwings666

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Happy 122nd Birthday F. Scott Fitzgerald — Waldina

Today is the 122nd birthday of the writer Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald. It should come as no surprise that I enjoy his work, his narratives, and his unapologetically messy life. Risks. Chances. Consequences. His life story is a cautionary tale of underutilized talent, gigantic love, and addiction. I have the last sentence of The Great […]

via Happy 122nd Birthday F. Scott Fitzgerald — Waldina

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