Inspirational Quotes.

Every one has quotes they pin up on their wall by their desks. As we close in on American Thanksgiving, I want to highlight the most important gratitude of all - that of love.


For one human being to love another:
that is perhaps the most difficult of our tasks;
the ultimate, the last test and proof,
the work for which all other work is but preparation.
-Rainer Maria Rilke

"Some day after we have mastered the winds, the waves and gravity, we will harness for God the energies of love; and then for a second time in the history of the world, humans will have discovered fire."
-Teilhard de Chardin

The subject tonight is Love
And for tomorrow night as well.
As a matter of fact I know of no better topic
For us to discuss
Until we all
Die!
-Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky

"Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love."
-Leo Tolstoy

"Any thought that is not filled with love seems unholy."
-André Gide

"Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who treat you spitefully."
-Jesus Christ

"Right now, we are appearing as the very light of consciousness, alive as love, although we may require some training, like an artist would, to fully offer our self as love's gift."
-David Deida from "Waiting to Love"

"There is no remedy for love but to love more."
-Thoreau

"When I love, I love so much, it's dangerous."
-Nicole Kidman

"To love is to tilt with the lightning, two bodies routed by a single honey's
sweet."
-Pablo Neruda

When I think of you,
fireflies in the marsh rise
like the soul's jewels,
lost to eternal longing,
abandoning my body
-Izumi Shikibu

Pillowed on your thighs in a dream garden,
little flower with its perfumed stamen,
singing, sipping from the stream of you --
sunset, moonlight -- our song continues.

-Ikkyu Sojun

Celebrate what you have, every day.

A dream gave me the idea for this poem. I wrote the first draft as soon as I woke up. :)

Making Cookies

c. Linda Smith

I wrap my hand around yours and kiss your neck as we
cream butter and sugar together.

Your sari is bright and soft under my mouth as
we dance in time to your limp
to the refrigerator for eggs.

Vanilla haunts the walls
as the oven works magic.

You always
forget melted chocolate burns.
I lick your tongue all better.
Your sweetness surpasses all others.

Someday, I will lose you to the rot in
your bones.

But not today.

Today, these cookies are perfection.

My body is a temple.

Picture from National Institute of Massotherapy

I'm giving myself the present of a massage and facial today.

What presents do you like to give yourself?

Surround yourself with beauty.

I think a lot of writers have this tedious self discipline and denial attitude towards their writing. That you have to get up at 3 am or force yourself to work in order to actually finish the book.

As an eternal contrarian, I think writing is self care. I do it because it makes me feel wonderful, and therefore, I want to do it a lot. And denial breeds resentment, not joy.

So in practicing what I preach, I indulged myself in some personal beauty.

First, I got a gorgeous henna this past weekend. Sorry for the view of the sink, but that's where the light was good. :) Isn't this a beauty??

Then yesterday, I painted over a semi-circular window in our house. This window faces south and it can get quite bright in that room. I took down the fabric I'd stapled there years ago, and came up with this little confection.

Inspiration

These are the pictures that inspired Rachel and Rod:

 Doesn't she look like trouble? I see her as a rebel and daredevil.

And he looks very uptight to me. :) The kind of guy who never misses a chance to do sit ups, fill out paperwork, and dot every lowercase j.

The coolest thing about writing?

Is the odd-ball stuff my brain throws at me.

I've had this beginning rolling around in my head for a while:

“Get a load of her,” a man’s appreciative voice came across the bar.

Rod Wachowska looked up at the entrance of the club. And trouble brought all his carefully constructed fictions tumbling down.

Rachel Albin stood in the doorway, her black tuxedo jacket cut to her navel and her skirt up to her butt cheeks. And just like he had twenty years ago in high school, Rod got a present in his pants.

And from here I have some vague ideas about a reckless woman with a secret deathwish and the By-The-Book man who yearns for her.