THE CORNER 4 WOMEN

Monday, 22 April 2024

THE FOUR LAWS OF A SHAMAN

"THE FOUR LAWS OF A SHAMAN" (author unknown)

The first says:

"The person who comes into our life is the right person"

In other words, no one comes into our lives by chance, all the people around us, who interact with us, are there for a reason, to make us learn and advance in each situation.

The second law says:

"What happens is the only thing that could have happened."

Nothing, but nothing, absolutely nothing that happens to us in our lives could have been otherwise.

Not even the most insignificant detail.

There is no: "if I had done such a thing, such another would have happened...".

Nope.

What happened was the only thing that could have happened and it had to have been so for us to learn that lesson and move on.

Each and every one of the situations that happen to us in our lives are perfect, even if our mind and our ego resist and do not want to accept it.

The third says:

"Anytime it starts is the right time."

Everything starts at the right time, neither before nor after.

When we are ready for something new to start in our lives, that is when it will begin.

And the fourth and last:

"When something ends, it ends."

Just like that.

If something ended in our lives, it is for our evolution, therefore it is better to leave it, move on and advance already enriched by that experience.

I think it is not by chance that you are reading this, if these words came into our lives today; It's because we're prepared to understand that no snowflake ever falls in the wrong place."

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A LITTLE PRINCESS by Tahlia Hunter

"A LITTLE PRINCESS"
by Tahlia Hunter

There is a little princess that exists inside of every woman.

She remains in touch with the beauty of life,

for she still believes in fairy tales,

in finding true love,

and in happily-ever-afters.

And though as you age,

you may lose sight of her,

she never truly leaves you.

And in the times when life attempts to put out her magic,

you must be a looking glass

to reflect back her magic to her

and remind her that though not everyone will appreciate her

or see her beauty and magnificence,

she is very precious and is always loved.

And she is no less lovable when she makes mistakes,

but is worthy of achieving every dream in her heart.

And though there will be many loves she experiences over the course of her lifetime, your love for her will remain the same: for you are your one true love. And regardless of who chooses to stay in your life, you may choose to romanticize your life and create your own happily-ever-after.

*****

Words by Tahlia Hunter

https://www.facebook.com/TahliaHunterBlog

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Artwork by Katarína Vavrová Artist

THE THREE LITTLE BEES

"THE THREE LITTLE BEES"
(author unknown)

My dad has bees. Today I went to his house and he showed me all of the honey he had gotten from the hives. He took the lid off of a 5 gallon bucket full of honey and on top of the honey there were 3 little bees, struggling. They were covered in sticky honey and drowning. I asked him if we could help them and he said he was sure they wouldn't survive. Casualties of honey collection I suppose.

I asked him again if we could at least get them out and kill them quickly, after all he was the one who taught me to put a suffering animal (or bug) out of its misery. He finally conceded and scooped the bees out of the bucket. He put them in an empty Chobani yogurt container and put the plastic container outside.

Because he had disrupted the hive with the earlier honey collection, there were bees flying all over outside.

We put the 3 little bees in the container on a bench and left them to their fate. My dad called me out a little while later to show me what was happening. These three little bees were surrounded by all of their sisters (all of the bees are females) and they were cleaning the sticky nearly dead bees, helping them to get all of the honey off of their bodies. We came back a short time later and there was only one little bee left in the container. She was still being tended to by her sisters.

When it was time for me to leave we checked one last time and all three of the bees had been cleaned off enough to fly away and the container was empty.

Those three little bees lived because they were surrounded by family and friends who would not give up on them, family and friends who refused to let them drown in their own stickiness and resolved to help until the last little bee could be set free.

Bee Sisters. Bee Peers. Bee Teammates.

We could all learn a thing or two from these bees.

Bee kind always.

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WITHOUT by Joanne Boyle

"WITHOUT" by Joanne Boyle

Without bad, we wouldn't know good.

Without couldn't there'd be no could.

Without the rich there'd be no poor.

Without temptation we wouldn't have lure.

Without getting hurt we wouldn't know love.

Without below there'd be no above.

Without sacrifice there'd be no gain.

Without emotion we wouldn't know pain.

Without Hello there'd be no goodbye

Without life we wouldn't die.

Without evil there'd be no kind

Without loss we wouldn't have find.

Without food we wouldn't have eat.

Without houses there'd be no street.

Without sadness there'd be no sorrow.

Without today there'd be no tomorrow.

Without yesterday there'd be no today.

Without leaving we would not stay.

Without You there'd be no me.

Without forever no eternity.

*****

Joanne Boyle Heartfelt

art by Steffi Krenzek

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SIT WITH ME MAMA by Joanne Boyle

"SIT WITH ME MAMA"
by Joanne Boyle

Sit with me Mama

before tomorrow comes.

Before the angels gather

and do God's sums.

Sit with me Mama

and let us just talk.

Let us go down that street

called 'Memory Walk'.

Throw the clock away Mama

so the moment stands still.

Let us hold off tomorrow

in the hope that God will.

Shut the curtains Mama

so we can't see the sky,

and lock all the doors

so your spirit can't fly.

Do you know Mama

they will come anyway

and leave me without you,

to face every day.

But for now Mama,

tomorrow is not here,

so let us cherish the moment.

and not waste it on fear.

*****

Joanne Boyle Heartfelt

art by Steffi Krenzek

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Sunday, 21 April 2024

You Don’t Just Lose Someone Once

"You Don’t Just Lose Someone Once" (author unknown)

You don’t just lose someone once.

You lose them when you close your eyes at night.

And as you open them each morning.

You lose them throughout the day.

An unused coffee cup.

An empty chair.

A pair of boots no longer there.

You lose them as the sun sets.

And darkness closes in.

You lose them as you wonder why.

Staring at a star lit sky.

You lose them on the big days.

Anniversaries.

Birthdays.

Graduations.

Holidays.

Weddings.

And the regular days too.

You lose them in a song they used to sing.

The scent of their cologne.

A slice of their favourite pie.

You lose them in conversations you will never have.

And all the words unsaid.

You lose them in all the places they’ve been.

And all the places they longed to go.

You lose them in what could have been.

And all the dreams you shared.

You lose them as the seasons change.

The snow blows.

The flowers blossom.

The grass grows.

The leaves fall.

You lose them again and again.

Day after day.

Month after month.

Year after year.

You lose them as you pick up the broken pieces.

And begin your life anew.

You lose them when you realize.

This is your new reality.

They are never coming back.

No matter how much

You miss them or

Need them.

No matter how hard you pray.

They are gone.

And you must go on.

Alone.

Time marches on, carrying them further and further way.

You lose them as your hair whitens and your body bends with age.

Your memory fades.

And the details begin to blur.

Their face stares back at you from a faded photograph.

Someone you used to know.

You think you might have loved them once.

A long time ago.

Back then.

When you were whole.

You don’t just lose someone once.

You lose them every day.

Over and over again.

For the rest of your life.

Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats

"Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thine happiness,

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country-green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South!

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs;

Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his parts,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Clustered around by all her starry Fays

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves;

And mid-May’s eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—

To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou waste not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that ofttimes hath

Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?