A song is when the heart wells up and cries
when the tongue can not find the words
when speech fails a stern look
the soul breaks forth with its on music
and those around can hear divine spark
Thank you for taking the time to visit; enjoy the posts...
Meladon of the island Kedos
Melbadon
Kyon, the only son of Nadan sat outside the
mighty gates of Mithar one day viewing the people as they came and went. As
Banerra and her son Melbadon approached from the tent village, Kyon spoke to
them saying, "Behold a righteous man of good character! From the seeds of
your sorrow, Melbadon shall you be called the Father of Goat Castle and a son
from your line a Priest shall come." Banerra asked, "What of me good
sir?" To which Nadan replied with a grave smile, "Blessed mother you
have already played your role and shall be herald with love." Two weeks
later she died in her sleep.
There was a
man who lived thirty-two years with his mother. When she died he buried her on
the island of Kedos in the Lake of Nethro, south of the Bay of Luhun. He lived
alone on the island. He never kissed a woman, nor lay with any; for he never
knew their physical love. He was a
serious, kind and loving man, but a lonely man. He painted and crafted bits of
stone as tiles. On island of Kedos, Melbadon built a house with a tall single
tower and a massive courtyard and wall about the island with the Lake of Nethro
as its mote. The stones he used were pebbles gathered from the island alone.
Thirty-two years after the death of his mother, Melbadon completed his
masterpiece which was as elaborate and grand as any eastern royal palace. The
day Melbadon finished building his home he went to the mainland. Going to the
tent village of Slavath he met a young woman selling wares named Shelva and
begged her to be his wife. She agreed and they later had three sons: Dorban,
Korban, and Sorban of Nethro Island. When his youngest son, Sorban became
seventeen years of age Melbadon died at the age of 122 happy and content.
Twenty-two
years later Melshavaon, son of Sorban became a Priest of Mithar and one of its
wisest teachers.
I FEEL LIKE CRYING
I feel like crying
on sunny days when others laugh
during the most upbeat of songs are playing
as the rain pelts the window seal
I feel like weeping thinking of loss
yet I hold back the tear and smile instead
if others only knew just an aroma
of the depths things held back
much was evaporated under the blood
though its void is ever present
i know beyond knowing its still there
though i want it gone its who i am
~ David DeLane Snow
on sunny days when others laugh
during the most upbeat of songs are playing
as the rain pelts the window seal
I feel like weeping thinking of loss
yet I hold back the tear and smile instead
if others only knew just an aroma
of the depths things held back
much was evaporated under the blood
though its void is ever present
i know beyond knowing its still there
though i want it gone its who i am
~ David DeLane Snow
Teddy: Introducing our New Puppy
THEY say that people who have had a lot of pets in their lives have a lot of "love" to share. We loved our poodle, Micah very much and he touch our lives for 11 years with so much joy. Never forgetting him, but needing to continue to share that love and ease the pain of his loss, my son-in-law James and my daughter Elizabeth will be gifting us with a new puppy. The bred is a Shih tzu; born four weeks ago and not yet weaned. Lady Snow, Alice has already picked out a name: Teddy. He looks like a "Teddy bear". I thought Chewie, ( Chewbacca from Star Wars); would have been a cute name.
MOVING IN A YEAR:
===========================
HERE is just one of many we are looking into at this time
===========================
Apartment Finder
3X16= Exhaustion
I'm off today and tomorrow. I'm glad to be off for awhile. Just venting, just sharing, just me... I do realize others have their own lives and tolerances but this is my journey. Sadly I'm not as youthful as I once pretended to be. I finished working three back to back 16 hour days and am utterly spent. My silly State Supported Job "leadership" always 'devise' new ways of help us build personal character. The "new thing" now is we can only work 2 (count them 2) days in a row back to back; the most OFTP [Over Time For Pay] days is 5 (but not to worry they wont pay you for 7, 8, 9 + days Oh nooo those are Comp day). Any who. I worked two 16 hour days back to back; then the other night they told me I was "stuck" (I hate that word). I informed the night shift Supervisor that I had already worked my allotted two days. The reply I got was, "Oh but tonight begins the new Pay Cycle."
I guess my body didn't get the message my brain was told. Yesterday morning as I got off my third 16 hour shift I woke up twice crossing over the broken line on the highway into the other lanes. Blessed that both times traffic was forgiving.
Last night I refused to stayover even as a co-worker almost slipped out trying to stick me. Just saying. One of these days I wont be posting here and well - you may figure out why.
Obama Fails
Four Marines get killed on Home soil and the public is outraged by Obama's lack of interest.
(1) Newscaster(2) Newcaster
Franklin Snow (our 'other' dog)
Franklin is actually one of the first dogs we've ever owned that even played with his toys. Micah loved the squeak toys, (we always had to buy a new one when we went out shopping - even though they'd tear them up in ten minuets). But mainly due to Franklin's playfulness Micah stayed active.. We've had Franklin for the last year and a half now; he still has a tendency to chew on things but has gotten better. Today we notice even he misses Micah's presence. Hyper thing that he is, Franklin is a very loving dog. At first anytime the front door was open he would run out; that too has changed and he's gotten better about staying inside the house.
DEATH SKULL
For Halloween, (a Pagan Day for "remembering the Dead), I crafted this simple fish aquarium skull for the occasion. I marked names of those who are remembered in our family. We have all experienced the influence of Death in our lives. Either people or pets, they are all considered "Loved Ones". Here are just a few of them along my journey: Bob Snow, Wilma Smith, Betty Scott, Michael Smith, Kathirene Peterson, Linda Townsend, Benjamin Garza, April, Oggie, Charlie, Milo Rosie, Samwise, Micah
THE SKULL
The Sigils, (a method by which the words of a statement of intent are reduced into an abstract design); on the skull "stand for" Earth, Wind, Fire, Water and Spirit. The body is scattered and consumed by Time. DEATH is the end of this physical existence. The "after life" - comes with the myriad of expressions of religions and philosophies the world over.
Micah: Rest In Peace
My poodle passed away today
he was more than just another dog
what do you call someone who was there
when you were sick he was unmoved
when you played he was eager to join
when you ate there was always a smile
Micah was a friend; I have few
he was a fur-person like no other
I was privileged to know him
weeping sorrow at his loss
God loved me with him by my side.
Micah Snow
Micah was our pet poodle; a very special dog. We had Micah from 2005 to 2015. Ten years flies by and is too brief a time to enjoy the company of a truly intelligent, loving and compassionate friend as Micah had become. What can be said about a dog. He had character, and knew how to use it. A dear friend refers to "pets" as 'fur- people'. Indeed, Micah was "people". Since he was a pup he tried to nuzzle under my neck as my head rested on a pillow in bed at night. As a grown dog he loved climbing onto of my shoulders whenever I sat at my desk. He would always beg for food at Alice's armrest-side; never taking from the plate to which his wet nose was pointed. He made us laugh; and we think he knew he brought us joy. He loved barking and calling attention to outside distractions, but yielded when called back in a calm voice, as he aimed to please. My poodle taught me so much; about myself, I hate re-learning what grief is about again. Words fail; or they go into rambling. Sorrow, weeping, loss of breath, runny nose, puffy eyes, deep sadness, a helplessness in not being able to un-do his passing, memories of happy times make the sadness of the initial loss even more profound. The dog had personality and it will be dearly missed. With a glowing smile Micah's eagerness always gave a tail-wag.
The grand-kids spent the weekend with us and we had a good time, feeling a little bad they certainly lifted his spirits. From time to time he would get 'sick': quiet, loss of appetite and very slow. Upon our return from taking the kids home back in Dallas; Micah's condition had worsen. The next day his health was failing. His recovery was a day or so; this last time there was no recovery and watching him pass was terribly heartbreaking. It is a most difficult thing laying an animal to rest when they show themselves to be more than 'just a pet'. I buried him in the field near our apartment complex. Digging the whole, wrapping them up, covering them up and placing somethings to mark the area as special. In a year will will be moving from these apartment. I hope and pray this area remains 'marked' for us to return. Walks wont be the same, nor exploring the wooded area. How do you describe the loss of a friend? Realizing that the one who was always there no matter your mood swing was eager to love. He was playful at bed time for his treats; I just pray his rest is peaceful as he is much loved and will be sorely missed. We loved you MICAH, thank you for allowing us to be yours.
Voices
Voices matter. Take those on the Radio. When I lived in Dallas, a few years ago, (passed 75 and 635); I use to listen to music on the radio. Since I work that second shift, (2:00 PM [1400] to 10:00 PM [2200]); and the journey back home especially in the evening was tiring I would often "fall asleep". So the radio was nice to listen to on the long drive. I began to 'fall asleep' or most of the time drifting thoughts found their way into manifesting as depression. So I started listening to Talk Radio. Getting distracted in the topic and various views not always my own kept me alert to driving, informed me of the events of the day and helped me away from depressive feelings.
Texting is a new thing to me. I love people. I find people most fascinating. I dislike texting. There is no voice to listen to. Actually, what has gotten me into writing more has been texting. I find it immensely frustrating to capture emotion in the briefest of words. I am still struggling with my writing craft, but think I have gotten somewhat better at it. Texting is a world unto itself. I dislike 20 clarifying texts to amend a poorly understood comment. Mentally exhausting; trying to decipher where I crossed my wires of understanding in the first place. I've begun finding "voice" in "text". LOL I feel like Dexter at times; in that learning social interactions are very awkward and discerning "text" "voice" very disconcerting.
(The Nightmare)
Woke up sweating.
Unable to resume my sleep in the air conditioned room in the dark of night.
The red lettered alarm clock displayed 5:10 AM.
Drifted back to sleep.
As if uninterpreted the nightmare continued.
The man smiled. A fake smile everyone took as totally believable. "Yes ma'am, you have a good day too." The salesman politely held the door ajar for the departing woman exiting the car dealership's show-room floor. He could not tear his eyes away from her gorgeous figure. The thirty something's naked calves beneath her black shirt reminded him of -
Instantly he felt nauseous. Instantly he wanted to cry. Instantly transported back in time twelve years before.
Everything blurred together. To that day he still could not recall exactly what had happened. Not to those around him at the time, not the Chaplain nor his psychiatrist of years in the hospital; he never even breathed a word to his civilian co-workers; not even Vets like him.
The .50 Cal Machine spun about in automatic rapid fire. The bullets came out in slow motion. They could not be stop. The rifle malfunctioned, frozen in play as its delayed descent to the ground continued. The woman's flesh reacted to each unforgiving bullet. She was in the shower tent. The soldier was bewildered to explain how he tripped while heading to turn in the weapon or even why it was able to be discharged or loaded while in camp. It did not matter in the instant the rounds were flying. The flesh was ripped apart in a horrible pattern. From face, shoulders, breast, abdomen, hips through shredded legs; the line of spinning fire was pin point accurate.
The soldier saw her naked form being discarded in a pit like some Nazi Camp Holocaust corps. Each bullet connected in a perforated line from head to toe in a dotted fashion as if to say tear here. The whole scene was surreal. The view was from inside the Shower Tent yet the soldier's mind whirled to recreate it. Her beauty was macabrely still intact amid the spurting holes of her tossed flesh. Specialist Sanchez. Rebecca Sanchez. Communications. He had seen her a few times around but did not know her personally. Nice enough in conversation with others as far as he could tell. They could have been friends or classmates but were just co-workers of no regard. She was dead. He killed her. It was deemed as accident. He was never the same. He vomited everyday. He could not look at women the same again after that.
"Great sale today Mark, way to close man!" His co-worker congratulated him as he still held the door open. He realized he had wet himself. He vomited out the opened door just as the customer drove off the lot.
It was just a nightmare I had.
Written best I could with the intent of not forgetting.
It should be forgotten.
I never experienced this nor heard of it from anyone, but in the dream it was real.
I didn't know her or him; nor they one another.
I woke up from a nightmare and could not go back to sleep.
Tap, tap, tap...
I like dropping things here as a note to self, comments, ideas, events ot "stuff".. I've tried journaling; but that only seems to last a week at the most. I get easily distracted or disinterested. If I retired I don't things would go well without some sort of daily structure or purpose for the day. It would be great not having to work but the routine and demand of attendence would not be there if I have no job.
I have many things to do. House work, laundry, walk the dogs, care of Lady Snow, go to work (and all the fun experienced there). There are things I "like" to do; but writting short stories, editing on my four novels and artwork.
my mind is wondering...
the grand kids are over this weekend; lunch, Going to a Movie, then shopping.
Felling the Trees
They are cutting the trees around my apartment complex. I understand trees need to be pruned and trimmed from time to time, but butchering and leaving the area like this just seems rude and none caring of purpose. A neighbor even went out and purchased a patio umbrella because the overbearing Texas heat and lack of shade is getting "too much"..
BAD Nukes Coming!!!
Embattled Israeli leader faces tough task fighting nuke deal
"Israel is not bound by this deal with Iran because Iran continues to seek our destruction," he said. "We will always defend ourselves."
Yoaz Hendel, a former Netanyahu spokesman, said Tuesday's deal marked a "big failure" for his former boss. But he said some of the criticism was unfair, saying the U.S. had acted to protect its own interests and even at times of warm relations, past prime ministers have lost important diplomatic battles with American presidents.
"I'm not sure a personal relationship and personal feelings would change anything," he said.
THE STAFF
The Priest Vethdema was injured in a fall
one day. After he fell down the stairs
of Varlendur he cut a thin branch from an orchid tree and used it as a
staff. Thereafter he walked with a limp
in the right foot. The orchid staff was
passed to the successor, Nolmithlon.
Upon his death bed, Nolmithlon cut a braided lock of Vethdema’s hair;
later he fashioned it to the staff. The third
priest, Aeradreth did the same with Nolmithlon’s braided hair and all those who
followed in his footsteps. All of the
priest thereafter wore a single braided strain on their left side in honor of Vethdema,
the first High Priest of Mithar.
It was also Aeradreth who cut and polished
the great spiraled trench into the wood grain of the staff. He embellished the spiral grove with the
sigils of the Priest’s House, and their names were written in Sinenya. The script thereafter was used only by the
priesthood. It was Malladek who carved
the top of the staff, and his successor Nal Kahass who wrote The Blessing verse
atop the raised spiral rib. The sixth
priest was Shayna and he wrote the verse and designed at the base. The seventh priest, Yelomen carved the hoof
at the bottom tip, thus completing the embellishments of the staff.
Just as the Scepter belonged to the King
this staff belong to the High Priest and became the symbol of The Priesthood. Each priest wore a white vest-tail in front,
this was sashed, and a heavy dark-blue robe was worn over this. Such was the
dress and manner of his office. Each
priest added prayers and rituals and devised new aspects of ceremonies for the
formal occasions so the people would be ever mindful to the times and seasons
worthy to be recalled.
The Day of Eru, (The One) was the third day
to the third week of the third month of the year. No formal work was allowed, by order of the
king and a day of rest to remember that God was above the King, and the king
was to favor his people on this day.
Feast and royal stores were freely opened up unto the people.
WATCHER'S BOOK
...
WATCHER'S BOOK
...
MITHAR's Morning Pray
It had become the practice of the priest to
burn inscense in the Great Meeting Hall of Mithar early in the morning
hours. Just before day break the priest
would open its great door and ceremoniously chant songs about the Great
Departure. Lamenting prayer began the
morning call to prayer for the city. At
the first call the people would stand where ever they were found walking, or
called to rise from their slumber if in bed; and face the twin peaks of the Bay
of Luhun.
“Beyond the Sun and Moon peaks
far from the
rim of the world
our departed
kin are forever
remembered lost
from us.
Hope we do ring out our bell
and beacon
light shone forth
the way back
to us may they
someday welcomingly
return.”
THE WALL OF SHROUDS
The offspring of the Watchers continued
their rituals and invented more; they in turn wore dark blue robes as a
memorial to those ancient fathers.
Three weeks after the passing of the last Watcher,
Brath Boarland the Smith fashioned from beaten brass the likeness of the
Watchers. He depicted them shrouded and
bound with cords in their burial robes as they were upon their funeral
pyres. With great ceremonial pomp the circumstance
of the installation of those panels was most momentous. Lining the inner walls of the Great Hall, the
shrouded figures covered up the intricate dwarven designs. Lamps had to be brought into that darkened
chamber for the mithrel silver and gold inlaid walls no longer brightened on
their own.
A year and a day after the shrouded figures
lined the walls of the Great Halls, a solemn ceremony saw the Watcher’s Urn
carried with two poles up to the tower heights of Varlendur’s many steps. Within that tower’s fifth floor the Urn
resided as a mystery, for few thereafter beheld its detailed wonder. In time rituals and songs about it were devised,
and only the elite came to see it.
WATCHER'S BOOK
...
WATCHER'S BOOK
...
NUTHORLAN
On the ninth day after Legandriel’s passing
a new king rose to power. The scepter,
ring and crown of Mithar were presented to Lord Nuthcorlan as the king. It came as no surprise to the remaining
Watchers and growing numbers of those allowed to reside behind the great walls
that he would be the one. The people had
great and genuine affections upon him.
Nuthcorlan and Legandriel were as
inseparable as shadows. Each was
faithful brothers one to the other as their friendships had been forged in the
depths of the Great War. Nuthcorlan had
served as adviser to the one he now replaced as king.
WATCHER'S BOOK
...
WATCHER'S BOOK
...
THE TALE OF FAYENDAR
( I )
He fled his
father’s home
for the
adventures of self-discovery
under the
banner of a new king
who sought
an elven realm afar.
Yet feeling
betrayed to anger his
elder brother
Calan pursued
the younger
Fayendar with might of arms
of his own,
to came against in strife
those rebellious
freedom seekers heading east.
A great
departure of their own
ancient forefathers
had seen many
sail beyond
the rim of the world
from the
eternal lands of their
precious living-fair
undead.
Those who
remained behind did
fashion a
new society of dreamers,
teachers and
leaders of lesser men,
those weaker
sons of Adam
who survived
the gore of war.
From that
lot of the frail
disenchanted
ones of great loss
Fayendar,
like Nadan before him,
sought only
truth and a higher calling
more than rote
ritual of vain ways.
Taking sides
with his bitter dying father
Calan
scorned Fayendar for leaving
under the
banner of one called
king, by his
own force of will was
uncrowned by
Mithar’s Nephilim sons.
Yet
Varlenfay proved his wrath against
the trolls
and boars that fell
upon Lindol
and its desolation
by which he
gained his fame of might.
For from the
Iron Hills north they came
with vengeance
unknown with brutal
force upon
their wild boar steads
the stench
of trolls made their havoc.
Nine hundred
fell that day yet by
Valenfay’s
swift blade nine hundred
were saved
and called him king
of valor as
the Mithar aided not their case.WATCHER'S BOOK
...
SONGS OF GALADIR (For Lord Symordare)
Come now and
remember the Dead,
For he loved
life to its fullest,
breathing in
adventures grave and small.
Many paths
and lives he wove,
Among the
fabric of his own;
A tapestry
of interest and caring,
a life of
seeking and sharing.
To remember
him is to recall
Yourself,
for we all, here shared
In some
brief measure, a smile
before his
passing joy and days.Watcher's Book
..
The Sigh
A frail and
brief thing
It is this
thing called life,
held together
by a tenuous faint line.
Love is high
in excitement
As lustful
passions do race
Yet even it
fades in time.
Eager days
of youth burns
Fast its
candle at both ends
With the
breath of eternity.
Through foresight
of experience
And wisdom’s
repeated play
The aged
reap the rewards of longevity.
If only the
most elderly among us
Could embrace
the vitality of
Bygone days
without death; what joy.
The sorrow
of regret is to miss
Clarity, before
embarking into
The harsh
lessons of the undoable.
The shame of
failure is that
Achievements
grasp are lost to
In the distractions
of the heart.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Yet; on Facebook (which sends out Birthday notices) I seem to have gotten "missed". Which is more meaningful: (A) "WOW, Is that a new dress you have? Looks great!" -or- (B) "Did you even notice my dress?" I think "A" is more meaningful. Sure you get the compliment afterward the question, but "being noticed" "being REMEMBERED" is the point. Happy Birthday may seem trite and over used or outdated by 52; even for someone like me who isn't a great fan of "parties". But "being remembered" is always a good thing.
Guess I'm rambling or venting about nothing. But it's my nothing. I got a text from a friend who remembered; it set my whole day with excitement. It's nice being "not forgotten". Sigh. I know some day (don't know when), I will die like all men and like my fathers before me; but it would be nice to be "remembered" - even in this life.
I guess I'm turning a new milestone corner. Believe it or not I really don't "worry" about all the things I use to. Youth was spent in a haze of constant doom and gloom filled thoughts; much of that is so behind me. Entering my 50s. Feeling old and ancient; yet there is a reinvention of self and a renewing of this Next Phase of my existence. To be remembered; what is it that I will be remembered for? Everyone will have a different answer to that one question, I have no control of the answers, because all of them will be correct. But would they be recalls that I would wish as my legacy? All I can do, all we can do is live in the moment of today and strive it is better and built upon the lessons learned from past mistakes.
Maybe I do care after all. . . .
I'm kicking myself over nothing. maybe im afraid ive contributed nothing to be remembered for. maybe im feeling old. maybe i wish id had a better upbringing, one with more celebration "like everyone else" maybe im not worth remembering... feeling blue today.....
sometimes i fight inside to feel "happy", sometimes I fight to see myself as "the good things" others say about me. sometimes i tell myself others are right, "fake their smile" and it will become how i view myself. i havent felt this "blue" in a vry long time.
thanks... ive never understood why people do; seriously, but ... thank you... old feelings seeping in... not feeling good today... if people really honestly knew how much i fake smiling. i dont get a lot of people's jokes, feel like i miss so many social comments, havent seen even a quarter of all the movies people talk about, I constantly feel "in the dark". im a master of nothing, not ever a jack. im trying to learn my new job title at work and insecurely behind the learning curve of every aspect of everything. i really hate that some people view me as a bigoted gay-hater; which im not, lol every gay i kno personally are the most amazing, creative and intelligent people id love to emulate and immensely admire! My DNA brain wiring has been so strongly infused with things; just who i am. im fighting darkness right now and if you only knew an aroma of what that even meant *sigh* really thinking strongly about just droppinig Facebook altogether
.....if people only knew how much i cry to myself, theyd be amazed...
thinking about just deleting my Blogs altogether...
*sigh*
blue is not the right color today... maybe just "void black" is better.
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