Tag Archives: Truth

Truth is Not Exclusive.

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Truth is not exclusive.

It is hidden everywhere in plain sight

It is visible at night.

It is never right and certainly never wrong.

It moves along

Meandering here and there.

 

Truth is not exclusive.

It can be told many ways.

With a burr or a lisp

As the tellers gaze

Reveals yet more.

Exclusive?

Never.

 

It can be told in many ways.

Many, many ways.

 


Lee Broom.

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SMILE,DAMMIT

 

SMILE,DAMMIT

Conceit, haughtiness, egoism, feelings of superiority, excessive self-pride, overconfidence, superciliousness, self-importance and condescension are the descriptions of we whose true feelings more accurately could be labeled as sadness,  an emotion  which then threatens the hearts and minds of those in its presence.

Conceit is the opposite of pride, the enemy of dignity and the destructive force that limits friendship and destroys Love.

Pride on the other hand is an expression of Love.

A closer look at  conceit may well reveal the existence of an enormous,  secret fear  so devious as to escape detection even by the owner.

A smile however, bonds those who wear it and replaces that glimmer of bravado that says “you can’t touch me. “

Oops. you caught me talking to myself. 

Smile, dammit.


Lee Broom  

THE XEROIC RESPONSE TO FEAR

THE XEROIC RESPONSE TO FEAR
(A conversation between Xero Aticus
and the Psychedelic Toad.)
Lee Broom

 

PSYCHO: So tell me XERO, what is it that you fear the most?

XERO: Nada, zilch, double zilch.

PSYCHO: What rhymes with zilch?

XERO: You’re changing the subject.

PSYCHO: It’s my subject. It was I who asked you what you fear; it                                 was I who asked you what rhymes with zilch. The answer                           is filch, which I believe is a word for theft, which is what                               you are doing when you beat around the bush.; you’re                                 stealing your own identity…
So tell me; what are the four things you fear the most?

XERO: Why four?

PSYCHO:(Silence.)

XERO: Okay, okay.

PSYCHO: (Silence)

XERO: Four things?

PSYCHO: (Silence.)

XERO: Okay I’ve got it.

PSYCHO: Ribbet

XERO: Toads don’t say “ribbet”; that’s the language of frogs.

PSYCHO: So…

XERO:  The four things are…

PSYCHO: (Silence)

XERO: Baptists, Muslims, Republicans and Democrats.

PSYCHO: Libertarians?

XERO: Them too.

PSYCHO:  Librarians?

XERO: Not afraid of Librarians.

PSYCHO: Why is that, XERO?

XERO: It’s okay with them if I think.

PSYCHO: Aren’t you a Lutheran?

XERO: I am.

PSYCHO: Why’s that?

XERO: Martin Luther was a Librarian in his spare time.

PSYCHO: Really?

XERO: Really.

 

Music makes everything better First posted on May 5, 2012

Tricias thirty day challenge day 9

Happy Birthday to My Son. His name is Bill.

When my son was a child (he’s a grandfather now), he and I enjoyed taking long, evening walks together during the summer months. When we began this tradition we found we had little to say to each other. Remarkably, we stuck it out, eventually discovering some very creative ways of entertaining ourselves and each other. One evening as we walked, Bill picked up a stick along the way. The discarded piece of lumber was as long as he was tall, (smaller than a one by four and larger than a one by two); I don’t remember how tall he was but he was six or seven years old. We had just arrived in Phoenix from Oklahoma City and everything we did, Bill and I and his sisters Mary and Dixie and his mother, was an adventure of the best kind.

As we approached a metal light pole, Bill raised his stick like a bat and creeping up as if to attack an unsuspecting animal standing there waiting to become dinner, Bill swung the stick and with a resounding ring, the vibration of which traveled back up the stick and through the bones in his small body, landed him squarely on the sidewalk. The greatest stress to my boy was the surprise of an inanimate object fighting back. The second was to the ulna of his right arm with considerable pain centering in the wrist. I removed my shirt and then my tee-shirt, put the outer layer back on, cut and tore the tee into three-inch wide strips using a 200-year old knife that had lived in the pockets of several generations of Broom men, wrapping the resulting field bandage around his wrist. When I picked up the stick, Bill told me in a very firm tone that I should give it to him and I obeyed.

We walked on. He hit the next pole more gently; we listened to the musical tone that resulted from the blow and I reproduce the musical note with my vocal chords. By the time we returned home Bill’s wrist was swollen and we had arrived singing a melody made of the notes that had erupted from the vibrating light poles that my pole playing son had produced with his pole bat.

On the next walk we sang that melody until memorized and eventually created a silly set of lyrics; no need for ASCAP membership yet but it was a lot of fun.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Memories. Tagged humongous, learning, love, mind, Phoenix.